Follow the Targets
by TotallyLosingIt
Summary: Missing. Shawn Spencer and Adam Ross are still missing. Montgomery is still at large. And this time, the teams might not be able to stop him from getting his revenge.
1. Prologue

**I'm back! Hope you like this. **

**Enjoy!**

"LVPD!"

The doors slammed open and cops, CSIs, and Feds flooded in. Henry and Tony looked up at them, Tony still clutching his arm, Henry still clutching his gun.

Gibbs immediately went to his agent after assessing the damage in the room, holstering his gun and holding Tony up. "DiNozzo," he sighed.

"Sorry boss," he said, gasping a bit. "I let them take Shawn and Adam. They're gone, Gibbs. I'm sorry."

Gibbs cuffed him on the head lightly. "You did good, DiNozzo. I'm just glad you're okay."

"You are?" Tony echoed, his eyes wide. Gibbs shot him an annoyed look. "Oh, right. Thanks, boss."

"Let's get you to a hospital," he said.

"You are in so much trouble, Spencer," Lassiter hissed in Henry's face. The older man didn't answer, looking longingly towards the door where his son had disappeared.

"Get me an ambulance," Nick shouted from Greg's room. The younger man was unconscious, lying in a pool of his own blood as it poured over the sides of the table. The smell, metallic, disgusting, and sickening, overwhelmed the senses of everyone who entered. The young CSI was pale, his wrists were bloody, and he wasn't moving.

But he was alive, and that's what mattered. Sara ran to his side and gently pried the blindfold off of his eyes. They stayed closed. She took out the keys to her handcuffs and clicked his open.

"Where are those EMT's?" Grissom yelled out of the building.

"Here," one replied, coming in with a partner and carrying a stretcher. They loaded Greg carefully onto the stretcher and carried him out, Tony and Gibbs following.

Sara, Warrick, and Nick stood with Mac's team as they stared at each other and around the warehouse.

"This is bad," Danny sighed.

"What happened?" Lassiter demanded, gripping Henry's shoulders.

The older man shook his head. "I… I don't… Lassiter, they took Shawn!"

"I know," Lassiter growled. "We need to get him back. When did they leave? They couldn't have gotten far!"

"About ten minutes ago," Henry replied. "I heard the tires, Detective. They're long gone."

"Where's Adam?" Danny demanded. "They didn't…?"

Henry just looked at him and sighed. Danny closed his eyes. _"Damn _it."

Shawn nudged Adam with his shoulder, checking the younger man over in the darkness of the trunk they sat in.

Adam looked up at him miserably. Like Shawn, his hands had been cuffed behind him, and a bandana was shoved into his mouth as a gag, tied tightly around his head. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, however. Shawn could see how much he hated his current situation.

Shawn could understand that.

They were both positioned awkwardly, Shawn partially on his side, his legs sprawled out and twisted. Adam was sitting on top of them, his head and shoulders hunched over to keep from hitting the lid of the trunk, his forehead resting on the cool metal.

The road was bumpy but it was painfully obvious they weren't in Nevada anymore. In fact, Shawn knew exactly where they were, judging from the radio stations that has been blasting through the speakers up front. What he couldn't understand was why the hell they were in _Texas__, _of all places.

Finally the car slowed to a stop, and a few seconds later the trunk opened. Shawn noted that it was still dark but the sun was peaking out on the horizon, while the moon shone clearly at the opposite part of the sky.

"Out," said the man, still holding that ridiculously large gun and aiming it at Shawn's head.

Shawn would've liked to shoot a retort, something, _anything _to cope with this current situation. But he struggled to swing his legs over the side of the trunk and stand, wobbling a bit unsteadily next to Adam and staring at the three men in front of him.

Three?

Adam froze next to him, staring wide eyed at the third man who'd appeared out of nowhere. A second later he was shaking, although be it fear or uncontrollable rage that set him off Shawn couldn't tell.

"I figure you should know," the man said, speaking directly to Adam, "what exactly happened. I know you recognize me, although Spencer is pretty lost."

He turned to Shawn. "My name is Montgomery. I was a CSI once."

Ah. That explained a lot, Shawn thought as he turned his head slightly to Adam. The younger man looked absolutely furious. He wondered what history Adam had with him.

"Funny, isn't it," Montgomery said to the two captives, "that the two hostages I managed to salvage from that disaster were the two I had targeted from the beginning."

_Hilarious. _Shawn glared at the man who looked slightly younger then him. Now that his mask was off, it was interesting to see that the wrinkles he'd sported had disappeared and made him much, much younger. If he had to guess, Montgomery couldn't have been much older then Greg or Adam.

Montgomery chuckled. "Nothing to say, Spencer? That's alright. I have some unfinished business, but you and Adam are going on a road trip. I hope you're comfortable."

He nodded at the men, who untied Shawn's gag. The psychic licked his lips and raised a brow at Montgomery. "Just peachy, thanks. How 'bout you, Adam?"

The CSI looked at him like he'd gone a little weird. "As a matter of fact, I don't think being handcuffed, gagged, and stuffed in a trunk shared by another person is very comfortable, no."

That brought a smile to Shawn's lips, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, to relieve some of that discomfort, might you, Montgomery, permit us to the little boys' room?"

Montgomery smirked. "One at a time. It saddens me, gentlemen, that I have to leave you at this time. But don't worry. I'm leaving you in capable hands."

He nodded to one of them men and they took Adam into the building Shawn noticed when they'd come out. Now that he'd gotten a good look at it, the building resembled a gas station, but it had definitely been deserted for some time. Shawn wondered why.

The minute they were gone Montgomery climbed into his car and took off down the empty road, towards the horizon where the sun was rising. Shawn stared after him.

"Road trip?" he muttered aloud. "Unfinished business?"

The man guarding him refused to answer, but that was alright by Shawn.

Adam came back a few minutes later, and Shawn was escorted into the building. As he suspected the building must've been used for a gas station convenient store but where the gasoline stalls went was anybody's guess.

The man stood outside, hawk eyes watching him stoically. Shawn found it incredibly uncomfortable as he tried to think of a way to stall and get his friends a message to where he was.

"So…" he said, jingling his cuffs. "You gonna let me out of these?"

He stared at him, and Shawn bit his lip. "I'll take that as a no…"

The man cocked his gun at Shawn.

"Whoa, whoa," he protested. "Jeez, man, how am I supposed to do my business with that thing pointed at my head? Could you just… just, leave? Just right outside the door, please!"

The man glared at him. "Nothing funny."

"Scout's honor," Shawn promised. The man eyed him and backed out of the door. Shawn waited until he was sure the door had been closed and looked frantically around the room.

The window was tiny and up at the ceiling, but Shawn had experience with these kind of escapes before. He stood at the edge of the sink and grabbed the lock with his teeth, twisting violently to get it open. Then he wriggled his way awkwardly out the window, his hands still cuffed behind him.

Once he set down on the ground he found some rocks and spelled a message quickly out of them. There was no telling if anyone would actually see it, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

On his way back in the man caught him.

"What the hell?" He grabbed Shawn and hauled him back, then smashing the butt of the gun into the side of his face. "What did I tell you about funny business?"

"Psh, like I'm a scout?" Shawn retorted smugly.

The man who was still to be named scowled and raised his gun again. That was the last sight Shawn remembered.


	2. Run

**Eek! Sorry I didn't update in, like, FOREVER. -blush- Hope you guys enjoy this!**

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Lassiter demanded.

Henry glared full on at the Detective. Now that they were away from the warehouse the shock was wearing off, and Lassiter knew it, too. He'd been giving him crap ever since they arrived at the hospital.

"At the moment, how to save my son and that CSI. Without me, Sanders would be dead by now!"

"You are a civilian, Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "It doesn't matter what happened, because nothing will change that fact. What I want to know is how the _hell _you messed up a rescue operation and how you knew where to go to mess up that rescue."

"Check your pocket," Henry said drily.

"Check my…" Lassiter's hand crept into the pockets of his jacket, and as his fingers closed over the unmistakable object a scowl formed on his lips. "You are _kidding me,_ Spencer! You bugged me? Me, of all people?"

"You're so vain," Henry scoffed. "You never would've looked in your pocket."

"I shouldn't have had to! If you'd just stayed put—"

"Shawn and the others would be dead, and you would be sitting on your asses, twiddling your thumbs."

Lassiter bit back another retort as the truth of the statement set in. He sighed, running a hand through his short hair.

Henry folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward in the seat, watching the white walls of the hospital.

"Sorry," came the Head Detective's quiet reply.

The older Spencer stared at him. Lassiter never apologized, _to anyone. _

Henry didn't know what to say to that.

Gibbs paced the length of the waiting room again. Ziva and McGee watched with tired eyes; they'd each had enough experience in hospitals and Tony to know that getting in his way would mean giving up their jobs.

"Tony DiNozzo?"

Gibbs turned sharply and fixed his piercing blue eyes on the doctor who'd just come in. "That's me, how is he?"

"Tony'll be fine. The bullet passed clean through, didn't even hit any bone or artery, which was our main concern. He's got a mild concussion, though, so I'd like to keep him here for a day or so. He'll probably wake up sore, too, but for the most part, he'll make a full recovery."

Each member breathed a sigh of relief.

"What about Greg," Grissom demanded from beside them, "how is he?"

"You are referring to Greg Sanders?" the doctor inquired. At Grissom's nod his expression turned regretful. "I am not his chief doctor but as far as I know, he's still in surgery.

Grissom tried not to take offense to that. Instead he bit his lip harshly and nodded, eyeing the rest of his team to make sure they wouldn't protest the man's statement.

They didn't, but he could tell they weren't happy. None of them were.

The doctors and nurses in the ER weren't faring very well with Greg Sanders. On the way back from the crime scene he'd woken up dizzy, faring badly and they were losing him fast. While consciousness was definitely a good thing the rapid loss of blood was what worried them the most. It was obvious that whatever the man had gone through, it must've been hell.

Dr. Heather Briggs had been a surgeon for a long time, and a nurse even longer. Healing was in her blood, but it seemed like Greg Sanders was beyond helping.

She brushed back some of his dirty blonde hair to get at a cut above his eyebrow that was still bleeding and wiped some of the blood off his forehead. It'd need stitches, but at the moment her most concern were the horrifyingly obvious slash marks across his chest.

As she went to push an IV tube into his arm she hesitated, seeing a barely visible mark she'd seen many, many other times.

"He's been injected with something," she called to one of her interns. "Find out what."

"Yes, Doctor," the young man said, and hurried out of the room.

"Get me some more bandages," Dr. Briggs ordered to no one in particular. "God _damn _it, he shouldn't be bleeding this much! What the hell did they give him?"

"Doctor," the intern yelled, back in seconds, "his teammates said he's been injected with venom from a… pit viper?"

Dr. Briggs swore vehemently. "You sure it was pit viper?"

"Positive," the intern said. "They got him the antidote, but by then he'd lost too much blood."

"Yes, I can see that," Dr. Briggs snapped. The intern knew how intense the situation was, so he took no offense. "That explains the blood loss. But he's still bleeding. I need clotting over here, please!"

"Where are those transfusions?"

"Does anybody know what type he is?"

When nobody answered Dr. Briggs stopped her work for the briefest second and glared at her team. "We are Emergency Response, people! It's our job to know everything if the patient needs urgent care!"

"Of course, Doctor," somebody said.

Dr. Briggs turned her attention to the heart monitor. "His blood pressure?"

"45 over 50 and dropping, Doctor."

"Alright, we're losing him, somebody get me the defibrillator!"

The grim statement was met with silence as everyone worked even harder. Because nothing was worse then a patient dying under your care.

And it looked like that might just happen.

Shawn woke abruptly, suddenly, and he stared into the darkness of the trunk as he tried to figure out what awoken him.

_Crack!_

He jumped, nearly hitting his head on the top of the trunk lid, recognizing the sound and not liking it one bit.

Gunshots.

The psychic licked his lips and was surprised to see that the gag was off, although his hands were still cuffed behind him. The car had stopped, and he could tell they weren't near civilization due to the lack of other cars. Other then a giant headache, nothing else seemed different.

Except that Adam wasn't next to him anymore.

"What—Adam?"

No answer.

Shawn's heart sped up, and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. The trunk got stuffy and hot, and the sudden desire to _move, _to _get out _overwhelmed every other sense in his body.

_Crack!_

There was that gunshot sound again! Now that Shawn realized his partner was gone, out, somewhere where he wasn't, and he was _stuck in this stupid trunk while gunshots were sounding outside!_

"Adam!"

Adam had never been shot before.

He'd faced guns up close maybe once, but at the time Danny'd been there, at the time he was still in New York, and his friends were right outside, and there was a chance he would actually make it out alive.

But instead, he was here, kidnapped, targeted, surviving with someone he met two days ago. There was no way out, and what were they doing here? Prolonging the inevitable.

Adam didn't know where they were at the moment, but he noticed one thing: the other survivor, his partner in staying alive, Shawn Spencer was missing from this group.

He was outside the car. It was daylight now, and they'd pulled over to the side of the road, onto a bumpy forested road that was partially hidden from the main road.

"What are we doing?" he asked when they pulled him from the trunk.

The man ignored him and dragged him by his forearm to a tree. He pointed at Adam with his gun and said in a low voice, "If you even think about running I'll shoot your friend in there. Don't think I won't."

Adam nodded slowly and stared after him as he walked further into the woods. He could see the car still parked some ways away, where Shawn was still trapped in the trunk. Something he hadn't noticed before was the other man, the other one holding them hostage.

It seemed too good to be true. That was precisely what it was, actually, because there was simply no way that they were in the middle of no where and their two captors were AWOL and he was free to leave.

Too good. So what exactly was happening? Adam checked nervously around for his guy, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the first gunshot sounded.

_Crack!_

Heart pounding, Adam peered over a branch for whoever or whatever made the sound that sounded freakishly like a gunshot, but he couldn't see a thing. He bit his lip and cautiously made his way back to his tree.

A sudden thought struck him, and he caught his breath, reaching down for a sharp rock. It was very lucky that his hands were cuffed in front of him, instead of behind like Shawn's were. With forced patience he carved a message large into a tree, one that Danny would surely recognize.

But how would he see it?

"Oh, jeez…"

Then again, he was surrounded by trees and branches. Adam realized he only had a few minutes, limited seconds before his guy came back from whatever he was doing, and dragged the branches in a familiar line, leading straight to the tree.

Hopefully the guy wouldn't notice.

_Crack!_

There it was again! Adam ducked, his hands raised above his head, before he realized that whoever was shooting wasn't aiming for him. Again.

"What the hell?"

Oops… Adam turned abruptly to face his captor, but before he could even get all the way around the butt of the gun smashed into his chin and dots danced in front of him.

"Ack!"

"What did I tell you?"

"I wasn't running! I promise!"

Adam was on his knees, bent over with his hands cupped to his chin. The man stood above him with the barrel of the gun at his forehead. He looked like he really wanted to shoot him, but instead hauled him up by his arm.

"Ow," Adam grimaced tightly.

"Suck it up," he growled. He half dragged, half led Adam to the trunk and shoved him in again.

Shawn's look of relief as he saw Adam was both gratifying and frustrating. The door closed, and they were left in darkness.

"Greg Sanders," Dr. Briggs called.

She'd been warned that he'd had a team, and they were all in Vegas, but the fifteen people who stood at the announcement weren't what she expected.

"What happened?" Grissom asked bluntly.

The doctor's solemn eyes locked with his. "We lost him on the table. Twice. But Greg's strong. At the moment he's stable, out of danger. Luckily, none of the cuts he received were infected. We managed to flush the rest of the venom out of his system. He'll be asleep for a while, but he'll make a full recovery."

A sigh echoed throughout the medical room. Grissom started towards ICU, but the nurse grabbed his arm, not unkindly.

"Two visitors at a time," she said, looking from him to the very many people there to see him. "There're a lot of wires."

Nick and Sara looked at each other, and he sighed and offered an arm so she can follow Grissom out of the waiting room. Sara smiled at him, silently thanking him with her eyes.

Greg, already pale to begin with, look about as white as snow when they came in. Grissom thought he looked dead. He looked very, very dead.

Sara covered her mouth with one hand and breathed steadily through her nose, closing her eyes. Grissom held himself together, but only slightly better as he came around the bed to touch Greg's hand.

"Hey, Greg," he said quietly. "I don't know if you can hear me, but… you did good out there. I know it must've been hard, him blaming you. But if you can hear me… it's not your fault. You hear me? It's not, and whatever he tells you, you're way more valuable to me then he will ever be."

"Me, too, Greg," Sara said as she sat on the bed, careful to avoid his legs. "You're one of my best… students, I could ever ask for. So, get better, okay? Please."

Greg stayed still and silent. Grissom nodded to Sara to send the next member in and sat in a chair next to the bed.

He sighed, rubbing a hand through his graying hair. This was going to be a long night.

Lassiter sat with the rest of the teams in the waiting room, his arms crossed, a sour expression on his face. Juliet sat next to him, blowing her blonde bangs out of her face incessantly. The action was useless, and he considered telling her so, but thought better at it. The last time he'd corrected one of her very many habits, she'd literally blown up in his face.

Best to let her do her thing.

Gus, on his other side, had his arms crossed similar to Lassiter's, but the tension in his shoulders was visible and building. He was shaking now, his teeth grit, his eyebrows furrowed. If Lassiter could sum up his posture and attitude, well, he'd say Gus looked _pissed._

"Guster, if you don't stop shaking you'll cause an earthquake," he snapped, but the concern wasn't completely masked by the irritation.

"It's not fair," Gus spat through his teeth. "Everything's all happy and dandy here and Shawn's still stuck with that _creep."_

Juliet blew another puff of air through her lips. "Gus—"

"No!" he exploded. "You can't tell me it's gonna be okay! You can't tell me he'll be okay! Because you don't know, okay? You don't know!"

He stopped, forced the rest of the air out of his lungs in a huff, and stared at them.

Juliet got up and enveloped him in a hug, and he breathed again, hard, shaking with uncontrolled anger. Everyone in the room made conscious effort to look away and give the two a private moment, but then Catherine got up and hugged him too.

"Sorry," she whispered in his ear.

Gus sucked in a breath through his teeth and pulled himself up, nodding to the both of them. The tension had gone out of his shoulders, but only and little bit. He bit his lip, looked away for a minute as he attempted to control himself, and looked back at them.

"I need some air," he said shortly, and turned on his heel out of the hospital.

Lassiter watched him go and turned his attention towards O'Harra, who was wringing her hands like they were Montgomery's neck.

"O'Harra," he said sharply. Her head jerked up, and Lassiter could finally see her face properly. There was a shadow over her normally bright eyes. She looked like she was about to cry.

For a second they just stared at each other, and Juliet's expression was angry and betrayed, identical to Gus'. Lassiter sighed and traded glances with the elder Spencer. He shook his head at the detective.

"Alright," he said suddenly, standing up. "We're going to find our guys, and we're going to get this sonofabitch and put him behind bars!"

"I'd settle for a bullet in his head," Danny muttered darkly.

"How do you figure we're going to find them?" Ziva spoke up.

"Not we," Lassiter corrected. "We are. Gibbs and his team, you're going back to DC."

"What?" McGee yelled jumping up next to Ziva. "We have every right to solve this as you do!"

"What makes you think we're going?" Gibbs asked, turning his steely eyes on Lassiter.

The detective held his gaze. "Your guy is fine. That's kind of the point. Montgomery is probably coming back to finish the job, and we need you out of the area to keep DiNozzo safe."

"So send him home."

Already Lassiter was shaking his head. "And risk him getting picked up at the airport? We need you to accompany him back. And stay there. Make sure Montgomery isn't coming after him."

They held the staring contest for a couple seconds more and then Gibbs called, without breaking contact, "Pack it up. We're leaving in the morning."

"Wait, wait, wait," Nick said, holding out his hands. "You think Montgomery's coming back?"

Henry stood from the chair to answer the question for him. "More likely then not. This guy is way more focused and too much of a sore loser to just let it go. And trust me, news that Sanders survived will get out. He'll be back, but we'll be ready."

"And what if he gets to Greg?" Catherine asked sharply.

"He won't," Lassiter assured her. "We'll make sure of that."

"You're using him as bait," she hissed. "You better be sure."

Lassiter didn't have an answer to that.

Gus felt like screaming. His cheeks burned from embarrassment. It wasn't every day he lost his cool, and especially not over Shawn. He'd been dealing with the man for over thirty years. Nothing had him more riled up then this.

The morning had come early, and with it came the heat. Gus glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Ten-thirty-eight. Ugh.

He turned up the police radio on his rental car, silently thanking Lassiter for his obsession with police work.

Static came on the radio, and Gus sighed, turning the volume down. If his mood could get any more depressed, he'd officially hit rock bottom.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid _Shawn! Gus gripped the steering wheel. If he hadn't been so insistent on popping up in the news every other minute, he probably wouldn't be in this mess.

_That's not entirely true…_

Gus scowled. His conscience was doing a number on his sanity. If he didn't find Shawn soon, he really would go crazy.

_I hate being so dependant on him…_

But it was really hard to hate somebody you'd been friends with since you were five.

_"Um, Johnson, you might want to see this."_

_"What do you see? Over."_

_"I'd classify it as vandalism, but it's not… destructive. I don't really know what to make of it. Over."_

_"Alright, we've got back up on the way. Can you describe it? Over."_

_"It's four rocks and a piece of wood. The name 'Gus' is scratched into the wood, over."_

Gus froze. Slowly he turned up the radio and listened hard.

_"What's your position, Jack, over?"_

When Gus heard the address, he through the car in reverse and sped down the highway.


	3. Rest in Pieces

**You lucky guys! This chappie came quicker then the others. Enjoy!**

The darkness in the trunk had lightened up a bit. Shawn looked up to notice for the first time that there had been tiny holes drilled through the lid, allowing bits of air and light through. He turned to Adam, who was shivering uncontrollably. Shawn couldn't tell if it was from cold or shock or fear or all three.

"Adam?"

The younger man's head jerked up at his name, his teeth chattering. "Y-yeah, Shawn?"

"What's wrong? You're shaking like Gus with a maraca at one of his girlfriend's _fiestas."_

Adam choked out a laugh. "I-" _chatter _"d-don't-" _chatter _"-know."

"Did you hit your head?"

"That g-guy h-h-h-h-"

Shawn shot him a worried look, watching him struggle to finish the sentence. Adam caught him staring and ground out, "I'm ok-k-k—"

"You are definitely _not _okay," Shawn declared, frowning at him. "Adam, stop talking."

He gladly shut up and let Shawn take a look at him. As soon as his skin touched Adam's he jumped back in shock. "You're burning up!"

"W-w-what?" Adam protested. "I'm f-f-freez-zing!"

Shawn banged his head against the wall. "Hey! Hey! Bad guys! Evil doers! Idiots with the guns!"

"W-what are you d-doing?"

"You need help," Shawn told him, banging against the wall again.

The car skidded to a stop, knocking them both together again. "When I tell you to," Shawn said, his words barely above a breath, "Run."

Adam shot him a startled look. "What?"

The trunk lid opened, bright light peering in and flooding the trunk. Shawn squinted up but quickly found the gun in his face the perfect focal point.

"What do you want?" the man sneered.

Shawn inclined his head towards Adam. "He's sick. If you don't let him out he could die."

The man scowled and looked Adam over. The younger man's body was wracked with shivers, his eyes were red, and goose bumps were raised on his cheeks.

Reaching over, the man tapped his left cheek with the cold barrel of the gun, and a violent shiver caused Adam to whimper a bit.

For the first time the man actually looked a little concerned. "Alright. Out, come on."

He grabbed the chain of Adam's handcuffs and hauled him up out of the trunk. Adam flashed Shawn a fearful look, but Shawn's eyes clearly told him "Wait for it."

"You too," he said to Shawn. "I'm not letting either of you out of my sight."

He lined them both against the car, watching them with a careful eye. "Don't move," he warned them. Then he walked away to the other side of the car, flipping out his cell phone.

Shawn nudged Adam. "Go. Now."

Without a second thought, Adam ducked low and took off, still shivering miserably. Shouts followed him and he ducked, almost tripping when bullets hit unnervingly close to his feet.

He looked around, noting with some despair that they were no where near civilization yet again. In fact, they could've still been in Vegas for all he knew. The desert looked a lot like Nevada's.

Panting, he risked a glance over his shoulder and noted with some shock that Shawn had taken off in the opposite direction. The man didn't know who to go after, shooting after the both of them and shouting into his cell phone, looking a lot like a lost puppy.

Adam kept running, faltering a few steps and looking for any sort of cover. The man had a car but if he went after one of them, hopefully the other would get free.

The motor on the car revved, and Adam looked back again. The car was heading towards Shawn. Devastation filled his chest and he prayed in his head for his new friend, still running.

Shawn could hear the car motor getting closer to him. It was surprisingly hard to run with your hands cuffed behind your back. As the wind ripped against his lungs he swore with every step he took, until before he knew it the black car had swerved in front of him and he slammed right into the door.

With a grunt he started to fall to the ground, but the man grabbed his collar. It jerked against his neck and he cried out as the fabric ripped, leaving the back of his neck bleeding slightly.

"What the hell was that?" the man screamed in his face. "Don't you dare do that again! Even think about it, and I swear I'll shoot you and your friend!"

Shawn looked around, smirking tiredly. "Who's friend?"

The sentence seemed to put the man into a bad mood, and he scowled, shoving him into the back seat. "Stay," he growled, taking out a cloth and pressing it to Shawn's face.

This time, Shawn didn't even try to hold his breath. Black spots swam in front of his eyes before they fluttered closed, and then went limp.

The man looked around the desert, swearing. Adam was no where in sight.

Greg never liked waking in hospitals. The feeling had become familiar to him, after the explosion in the lab and the Fannysmackin' Crew, and as he slowly came to, his mind noted each of the individual senses coming back to him.

It smelled like rubber and something else, a really sharp smell that reminded him of his Nana's house whenever she cleaned. Sounds buzzed in his ears, fading slowly and then sharpening into distinctive noises. His heart monitor beeped steadily, and footsteps echoed throughout the room.

The cloth beneath his fingers was scratchy and uncomfortable. The pillow underneath his head had a wax cover, just like the kind in his school nurse's office. It crackled when he moved his head, alerting his friends that he was conscious.

Finally his eyes cracked open. White and pale green invaded his vision first, then he picked out the ceiling and the curtain, all the wires and the iv, and finally, Grissom's face.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Water?" Grissom guessed. Greg nodded mutely. Grissom reached over the bed to the table and produced a cup of water. With a grateful look at his boss Greg sucked through the straw, slowly because he knew what Grissom would say if he didn't.

"Little sips," Grissom said anyways. Greg rolled his eyes as best he could but took his mouth off the straw.

"How did you get here?" His voice was scratchy and painful, but he could talk. Barely.

"You have to thank Shawn's dad for that," Grissom said, chuckling.

That was a weird statement. Greg frowned, thinking about that. He should've assumed that Shawn had a dad, but the concept was still weird.

"What about the others?" he asked.

A cloud passed over Grissom's face. Greg wasn't sure why, but goose bumps rose on his arms. "Griss?"

"You and Tony were rescued," Grissom sighed. "Adam and Shawn were… retaken."

As the force of the statement hit Greg, all the energy drained from his body and he slumped against the pillows. "Oh."

"We almost lost you," Grissom said. "Catherine nearly had a heart attack." He inclined his head towards the chair against the wall, and Greg picked out Catherine's blonde hair in a fray around her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady.

"How long have you guys been here?"

"Long enough," Grissom said, smiling. Greg snorted, wondering how he knew about that.

"What time is it?"

Grissom glanced at the clock. "Early. Very early. In fact, it's seven in the morning."

Greg frowned. "When I talked to you it was four. I saw the clock on the phone."

His boss breathed a sigh through his nose. "Right. Greg, you've been out for over a day."

"Oh," Greg blinked. _"Oh."_

"Yeah. Oh."

Greg's shocked face turned thoughtful. If Grissom had a guess, he would say that Greg looked, well, _shy._

"Can you get Shawn's dad in here?" he asked Grissom quietly. "I want to thank him."

Grissom smiled.

"Henry."

At the sound of his name Henry jerked out of his sleep, ready to fight or run or argue, as the case may be. As his bleary eyes blinked open her could see Grissom standing over him, one hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Greg wants to see you," he whispered.

One brow rose, but it wasn't in Henry's nature to question whether a victim wanted to talk to him or not.

He stood and stretched, cracks resounding through his body. As he looked around he realized just how early it was. Every member of every team had been sprawled out in some way or another, sleeping sounding, aside from Gibbs, Mac, Danny, and Catherine, who was no where in sight.

"So he's awake?" he asked Grissom as he followed him into the room.

"See for yourself," Grissom said.

Henry's lips twitched in an almost smile when he spotted Catherine slumped in a chair, sleeping soundly. He ducked through the green curtain to survey the young CSI.

Greg looked terrible. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes closed. He had been relatively cleaned up, so there was no trace of blood on his face, but Henry could still see the outline of the bandages on his chest.

"You definitely got yourself in a pickle," he noted quietly.

The CSI's eyes opened, and he smiled weakly. "I'm guessing you're Shawn's dad."

"At your service," Henry quipped, taking a little bow.

"I just wanted to say thanks," he sighed. "For helping me, and getting me the antidote. If you hadn't been there, I would've been dead."

"It was nothing," Henry said, his voice a little gruff. "I just did what I thought was right."

"Well," Greg said, locking eyes with the older man, "I heard that you might get in trouble for what you did for me."

Henry's eyes rolled. "Right, like they haven't had enough of that from my son."

The corner of Greg's mouth turned up in a smirk. "I just want you to know, whatever happens, we'll get Shawn back. And we'll catch Montgomery."

"Yeah," Henry said, his eyes hardening. "I know." He clapped Greg on the shoulder, careful of his injury. "Take care, kid. Stay out of trouble."

Greg coughed out a laugh. "Find Shawn for me."

"You know I will."

With that Greg's eyes slipped closed, his breathing evened out, and he was asleep in seconds.

Henry watched him for a moment, hearing Grissom walk to stand behind him.

"You didn't tell him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Why would I?" Grissom asked rhetorically. "This is the first time he's woken up coherent. I'm not going to burst his bubble by telling him that this might not be over for him."

"He deserves to know if he's being bait," Henry stated, but his heart wasn't really in it.

"And he will," Grissom said. "When he's ready."

They lapsed into silence once again as they watched the CSI sleep.

"Lassiter," Gus growled into his cell, "pick up your damn phone!"

It went to voicemail once again, Lassiter's gruff and blunt message ringing in his ear again.

"Lassiter, I think Shawn left a message for me. I'll call you with the address if it checks out, but answer your phone next time!"

With that he shoved his phone back into his pocket and swerved into the parking lot of a very, very old gas station.

Two cop cars were lined up with their lights flashing. Gus ducked under the tape and weaved around two cops to a get a look at what they thought was so weird.

"Hey, you can't be here," a random police officer said, trying to push him back.

Gus glared at him. "This message was meant for me by my best friend who got kidnapped, along with one of your CSIs. If you know what's good for you, you'll step back and let me see if I'm right."

The officer started to protest again, but Gus ignored him and pushed past, finally spotting the "message" on the ground.

He smiled.

Four rocks and a flat piece of wood had been arranged into a fairly obvious three dimensional picture. G-U-S had been scratched into the wood.

"Sir!"

"Gus is a table," he snorted. "Of all the messages, it has to be that?"

"You're not allowed to be here," the officer said, this time taking hold of his forearm.

Fury shook Gus' body, and he had to control himself before he punched the cop's lights out.

"This is from Shawn Spencer," he said, his voice icy. "Have you heard of him? It's been more then a day since your guy was rescued. Shawn was one of the guys that _weren't _rescued. You know how I know this? Because Shawn is my best friend. He's been my best friend since I was five. If you'd like, you can contact Grissom at he crime lab, and he can vouch for me."

"Alright," the officer said, holding his hands up. "I get it. But you might contaminate the scene and the CSIs don't like that much. So, please, step behind the tape."

Gus glared at him. "Fine. _Fine."_ He flipped out his cell phone again, dialing automatically, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

"You've reached Detective Lassiter. I'm probably out catching bad guys so leave me a message. No guarantees on getting back to you, though."

Gus groaned.

_9:12 am_

"And you're sure this is from Shawn?" Lassiter asked.

"Lassie, I told you this already," Gus said, glaring. "Shawn and I had a prank from seventh grade, and it was called "Gus Is a Table". I'm positive."

They were at the crime lab now, with every team gathered around in the tiny space. Nick and Warrick were staying with Greg, who was to be released in a few hours, but other then that everyone was here.

Gus had described the message left for him by Shawn. "But the funny thing about it," he explained, frowning a bit, "it was all the way on the border of Arizona. I had to drive forever to get back here."

"Arizona?" Juliet frowned. "What are they doing in Arizona?"

"Good question," Grissom said, mirroring her expression. "From what I know, Montgomery doesn't have anything tying him to Arizona."

"It could've just been a pit stop," Hawkes suggested. "They could be going to someplace entirely different."

"Where could he be going, then?" Lassiter challenged. "Is he just flat out running? No, I say this is a lure, to get us to drop our guard so he can go after Sanders."

Catherine and Sara shot him identical glares. "Stop talking like that," the elder woman growled. "It's possible that Montgomery's not coming back for him and you're just being paranoid."

"And it's possible that he's using the victims he has to lure us into false security and you're in denial," Lassiter argued.

"Guys," Gus sighed.

"What do you know, anyways?" Sara shot back at the detective. "We actually care about our team. You seem like you're glad Shawn's been taken captive!"

Lassiter looked taken aback by that statement. "I'm not _glad _Spencer's gone," he protested.

"Really? Because all I ever hear from you is, 'That idiot, Spencer,' and 'Why does he always get himself into these situations?' What, you think he _tries _to get kidnapped by psychos on a daily basis just to annoy you?"

The head detective's jaw dropped. "That's not—"

"But you know," she said, and she leaned in close to his face, her eyes venomous and angry, "maybe if you'd shown him you actually care sometimes, his trouble meter might go down a bit."

Lassiter stared at her, his mouth flopping open and shut as he searched for a way to respond to that.

"What's wrong?" came a timid voice from behind them.

They all turned to see Greg in a fresh pair of clothes, holding onto Nick's arm for support, staring at them with a puzzled expression.

Sara sighed and pulled him into a hug. "Don't ever do that to me again," she whispered into his ear.

He smiled. "Sure, Sara. Why's everybody here? I thought you'd all be at the lab, trying to track down Shawn and Adam."

Lassiter and Grissom traded looks, which Greg caught. He frowned, looking between the two. "Griss? What's going on?"

Grissom sighed. "Greg… we don't think Montgomery would give up on you so easily. We're pretty sure he's coming back for you."

The young CSI's face paled. "Wait. You think he's coming after me? Again?"

"You'll be protected 24/7," Lassiter assured him. "There's no way he can get to you. All we need to do is wait, and then—"

"So I'm bait?" Greg interrupted, looking angry. "What if he's not coming after me? Shawn and Adam could be halfway across the country by now, and we're just going to sit here and wait for a guy who's probably not going to show?"

"He'll show," Lassiter protested.

"No," Greg said, shaking his head. "We're going to the lab. If Montgomery wants me, that's where I'll be. But no way am I going to sit on my ass while my friends are out there with _him."_

Nick helped him into the police issued SUV, shrugging at Grissom as if to say, "What can we do?"

Grissom sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Right. Is Gibbs' team on the plane yet?"

Henry checked his watch. "They should be boarding about now."

"Good," he nodded. "I want as much people out of this as possible."

"I hear that," Gus said, letting out his breath in a puff of air. "So, now what?"

"Now we go to the lab," Mac told him for Grissom, "and see if that message really is from Shawn."

"It is," Gus said, his voice like sharpened steel.

Mac held up a hand. "It probably is, if he felt so strongly about you getting it. If it is from him, we might be able to find out where they were headed, and maybe where they are now."

"Doing your CSI thing," Gus nodded, waving at his team.

The older man smiled. "Yeah. Doing our CSI thing."

They headed into the SUVs, Gus, Henry, Lassiter, and Juliet slipping into Gus' rental car and following close behind.

Juliet had been quiet throughout the conversation. All she could think about was how close they'd been to getting Shawn back. _And now he was stuck with Montgomery. Again._

She'd be lying if she said she didn't care about him. He could make her laugh with stupid pick up lines that would make her scowl at other guys. For some reason, that's all she ever wanted in a guy.

The junior detective shook her head, composing herself. They'd get him back. They had to.

Traffic made the normally short drive back from the hospital longer. Gus pulled into the parking lot at the station, unbuckling and shooting a comforting smile at Juliet.

As soon as his door opened, however, an explosion rocked the street and sending him toppling back into the car.

Glass rained down from the second story, fire billowing out of the broken windows and blasting them with heat from every corner.

Grissom ran out of his car and yelled, "Greg!"


	4. Waiter, Bring Me Water!

**Hey guys! I just wanted to say, thanks for those of you who have stuck around to see this through. :D It's been awesome! **

** Also, I finally figured out how to break in these things. *facepalm* Sorry it took so long. I know there are typos and it's kind of hard to read. :P I'll edit those out when this is done, promise!**

** Enjoy, guys!**

Greg had the weirdest sense of déjà vu.

The second story of the building, where the majority of the crime lab was located, was in flames, heat blasting him full in the face, glass tangling themselves in his spiky hair. As the full force of the explosion propelled him backwards, smashing him back-first into the wall, he thought about how incredibly similar this was to the explosion that had happened only a few years ago.

It was almost exactly the same.

Unconsciousness didn't last long, though, and Greg was woken abruptly again when the fire alarm screeched in his ear. His vision was fuzzy as he made out flames, Nick, standing over a broken body. Warrick.

"Warrick?" Greg panted, pushing up against the wall. His knee buckled, and he collapsed again, a growl of pain leaving his lips.

"Greg," Nick said, standing to his full height and sprinting to where the younger man was. "Are you alright?"

"No," he grumbled. "What the hell just happened?"

"A bomb," Nick said, sounding grim. "I spotted it on your old lab table right before it exploded."

"Is Warrick okay?"

Nick cast a look back at the African-American. "He's unconscious and bleeding. I don't think anything's broken, but it looks like he'll have one hell of a headache when he wakes up."

"Who else was hurt?" Greg asked, looking around.

"Nobody, from what I can tell," Nick said. "I've got a few bumps and bruises. You got thrown into a wall."

"I noticed," Greg said, wincing. "Help me up."

Nick hesitated. "It's probably best if you keep still, alright? You could have broken something."

"Nick," Greg growled, "Montgomery just tried to kill me with a bomb, and I have to do something about it."

"We don't know if it was Montgomery," Nick protested. "There—see, Grissom's coming. Just stay still, okay?"

Greg didn't want to stay still, but it was no use arguing with the Texan.

His boss hurried to him, fussing over every little thing, but he waved them off and pointed tiredly to Warrick.

"Oh, no," Catherine breathed, rushing to his side.

Warrick was still unconscious. EMTs appeared out of nowhere and loaded him onto a stretcher.

"Sir," one of them said to Greg, "you should probably come with us to the hospital."

Greg scowled. "No, thanks. Just got out and I'm not going back in any time soon."

Nick gave him a stern look, and Greg mirrored his expression back. "I'm not going, Nick. We have to find Montgomery."

"Montgomery can wait," he wheedled.

"Shawn and Adam can't!" Greg yelled. Then he slid, all of his energy gone, towards the floor. Nick caught him by his arms and held him up gently.

"You need to go back to the hospital," he scolded. "What if you have a concussion?"

"Then I'll have a concussion," Greg retorted, but the irony of the statement went undelivered as he closed his eyes and let the blackness take him.

Nick cast a glance towards Grissom as he held his unconscious friend. Any more of this and Montgomery won't need to come after Greg again. He'd probably kill himself all his own.

_**BREAK**_

Adam was so, _so _tired.

He glanced up at the sun, guessing internally that it had to be at least noon, or some time after. Just his luck to get lost in a desert in the middle of summer.

_Beats being kidnapped…_

Now that he thought of it, there was no place he'd rather _not _be other then with those creeps. Stuck in a trunk for a day had not been the highlight of his kidnapping. He'd rather be tied to the chair.

_Shawn…_

Adam swallowed the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. Shawn knew what he was getting into. He helped Adam get away. Now the least he could do was somehow find a way to return the favor, before either of them were killed. _Like Greg._

No. He wasn't going to think about that. The only man he shared a profession with couldn't be dead.

_But we didn't see him when we got out._

"And that doesn't mean a thing."

_You know it's true. You've studied this guy. You tried to catch him. Greg is dead, and there's nothing you can do about it._

"I can stay alive."

_What, and somehow manage to save Shawn, too? Face it, you're all going to die. Greg is dead, Shawn's still with those psychos, and the last time you saw Tony, he'd been shot._

"I can do this."

_Keep telling yourself that, and maybe you won't drive yourself crazy._

"I'm not crazy!"

_Oh, no? Well, then, maybe there's some other guy out here, talking to himself._

It was then Adam realized he had been, indeed, talking to himself out loud. With an angry sigh he crashed to the ground, exhausted from hours of walking. How he hadn't been caught yet was beyond him. There was just no way they would've let him get away that easily.

_Unless they're just gonna let me die out here._

Adam sighed. There went his mental pessimism again.

_**BREAK**_

Drake was a professional hit man. He killed for a living. This kidnapping this was unusual to him, and he was pretty sure his "client" knew that.

Losing one of them, of course, was embarrassing. Drake's reputation would be shot to hell if word ever got out. Nobody would hire him. It'd be a total disaster.

He cast a glance towards the recovered hostage. This kid was slippery. How was he supposed to know they were gonna run? Now that he knew just how crafty Spencer could be, there was no way he was letting him out of his sight.

The kid stirred, shifting slightly in the back seat. He'd been gagged and blindfolded, adding to the whole handcuff thing. Drake wasn't taking any chances.

"That was bloody stupid," he told Shawn, his Cockney accent popping more then usual. "You should be lucky I got orders to keep you alive."

A muffled moan, sounding almost indignant, answered him. Drake snarled. "You were an idiot, you know that? Blimey, look what you've done, gone and killed off your friend."

He peered in the rearview mirror and grinned, watching the kid freeze like a deer in headlights. "That's right. You're lucky I caught you first. Maybe you'll think next time you think you have a chance of getting away."

Tears rolled down underneath the blindfold. Blimey, now he was crying.

Drake didn't know what the hell to do with hostages.

When Shawn woke up again, he had been blindfolded and gagged and dumped in the backseat of a car with his fellow captive missing, presumed dead and a psycho hitman in the front seat taunting him with words that shouldn't have bothered him, but did.

Well, crap.

The handcuffs, he noticed, had been tightened unnecessarily. The hired gunman probably thought he was going to escape like Houdini, which would be pretty cool. But Shawn didn't know yoga, no matter how many times Juliet tried to get him into it.

His heart fluttered a bit. Jules… was she missing him? God, he missed her like crazy. Her blonde hair turned dark this summer, her easy smile… after Yin he thought he'd never see it again.

The time it took her to bounce back from the kidnapping scared him. He'd never admit it, but he thought he lost her for a minute there. And Shawn didn't know what he'd do if he lost Jules, so soon after Abigail.

Shawn missed her. He missed her a lot.

_**BREAK**_

"This is a disaster!" Ecklie yelled.

Grissom rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I got that, Conrad."

The younger man glared at him. "You know what this is going to do to our reputation? We don't need this kind of publicity so soon after the last explosion! It wasn't even a year ago!"

"We don't try to blow ourselves up on a regular basis," Nick said angrily.

The teams had been gathered in what was left of the Assistant Director's office. Glass was scattered all over the floor. The computer screen had been blown out. Many things on his desk had been knocked over and the back of his chair was ripped to shreds.

Ecklie picked through the debris. "This is a nightmare," he muttered. "How the hell are we supposed to pay for this?"

"You're worried about paying for all this when Warrick is in the hospital, fighting for his life?" Greg demanded, sounding pissed.

"Not fighting for his life," Ecklie scoffed. "The doctors said he was stable and only suffered first degree burns and a mild concussion."

"That shouldn't matter," Sara tuned in. "We'll worry about this later, but if this bomb was from Montgomery, he's targeting the whole crime lab now. He's upping his game, and you're worried about the money and the publicity? That's just low!"

"Montgomery won't try for another hit on the lab," Eckle said, scowling. "We'll have protection 24/7."

"What about the rest of us?" Catherine asked. "Montgomery already let Greg slip through his fingers once, and he hates Grissom with a passion."

"Of course there'll be protection for you," Ecklie said, his voice grudging.

All five of the CSIs looked at him expectantly.

"I'll get on it," he promised. "In the meantime, we need you guys on cases."

"What?" they yelled.

"No disrespect, Conrad," Grissom said, "but this case isn't even close to over yet."

"Grissom," Ecklie sighed, "I don't like this guy out on the streets anymore then you do. But—"

"You weren't here when Montgomery killed Jessie," Catherine said, her tone icy. "Montgomery carries grudges. He became a serial killer because we fired him, Conrad! And now he's calling us out! We have to get him behind bars!"

"Crime doesn't sleep," Ecklie said firmly. "Starting tonight, Sidle and Catherine are on duty. Sanders, I want you in bed and recovering. I'll send someone by your apartment on protection duty."

The younger CSI glared at him with slowly returning strength. Then, without a word, he turned around again and stormed out of the office.

Grissom stared after him and then turned to Ecklie with angry eyes. "The hell that Greg has been put through," he said vehemently, "will be nothing compared to what Montgomery has in store for him if he catches him again."

With the ominous warning successfully delivered he stalked out of the office, leaving the Assistant Director staring after him.

_**BREAK**_

"He can't do that," Greg said angrily, leaning on the table in the break room.

Gus, Lassiter, Juliet, and Henry were with him while Mac's team worked with Grissom's team on the "message" Shawn left for Gus. All, that is, except Greg, who had been stuck with recovery duty as far as Ecklie was concerned.

Needless to say he hated it with a passion.

"He's the Assistant Director," Lassiter pointed out, not unkindly. "I'm pretty sure he can."

"Well, it's not fair," Greg growled, running a hand through his spiky hair. Now that it wasn't mopped with blood, Gus could see that the natural color was dirty blonde. "I may be a victim, but a day with those guys as hostages… they need me!"

Gus knew what Greg really meant. _I need them to be okay. _The feeling came whenever Shawn had gotten himself into trouble—when he'd been shot and kidnapped, Gus needed him to be okay. When Drimmer took him from right under Gus' nose, he needed him to be okay. When he'd stood two feet from Yang, he needed him to be okay.

Because Gus couldn't be okay without him.

"I can't just sit around and do nothing," Greg continued. "I can't just wait for Montgomery to catch up with me. Shawn and Adam are out there with that freak, and he just expects me to sit back, wait to be kidnapped again, "recover" from my ordeal…" he made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "Recover!"

"You did go through torture," Juliet said cautiously. "It's a big deal for anyone. Not to mention in front of all of us. That's got to hurt a bit."

Greg flinched; Gus could tell just how much it must've hurt. "I can deal with that later," he muttered. "Right now we have to find the guys."

Lassiter placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "_We _are going to find them," he said sternly. _"You _are going home, with an armed escort, and waiting there until we can get this sorted out."

The younger man glared up at him. Gus recognized the look; now that he thought about it, almost everything Greg did reminded him of Shawn.

"Fine," he hissed through his teeth. "You know what, _fine. _If you want me out of the way so badly."

"That's not what I meant," Lassiter yelled after him, but it was a lost cause. The CSI was already out the door.

Henry stared after him. "He's gonna do something stupid," he said.

Gus knew Greg's actions seemed familiar.

They were exactly what Shawn would do.

_**BREAK**_

"This sucks," Adam muttered aloud for the thirteenth time.

The CSI wasn't one to swear much, but if he had to keep walking, he thought he might explode into a fit of bad words that a sailor would threaten to wash his mouth out with soap.

That was saying something, he supposed.

"This frickin' sucks," he said again, but with less energy.

By the sun above he guessed it was sometime in the early afternoon, and that only reminded his stomach of how empty it was.

He hadn't eaten anything since… _Damn. _Four or so hours _before _he'd gotten kidnapped. _That's about… what? Two days?_

How long could someone survive without food? His sluggish brain was slow to recover the information. That was never a good sign.

With any luck, the fever he'd had had gotten down, _maybe. _He still felt like crap, but at least he wasn't shivering anymore. Not that that was a good thing. _It's so frickin' _hot _out here!_

Adam could feel the skin on the back of his neck peeling. As a kid he'd sunburned so easily, his father called him "redneck".

A flush of anger surged through his body, giving him renewed strength. _That bully…_

The CSI hadn't grown up well. At all, in fact. That's why he automatically repelled guys who picked on other kids, people younger then them, people who weren't as "cool" as them. He had a hard time in high school for being a geek, but that didn't stop him from doing what he loved best.

_Who cares what those idiots said?_

That's what those hitmen were. Idiots. Bullies. People who killed for the sport, for the money, just because. _No reason. _None at all.

Adam hated those kinds of people.

As the anger of his childhood came racing back to him, strength surged through his body. Surprised, he looked down at his hands and saw they weren't shaking anymore. Apparently getting mad helped him survive. _Surviving's good…_

But as soon as the energy came it left, leaving him on his knees in the hot sand of the desert, with darkness edging around the corners of his eyes.

_Don't pass out! _he screamed at himself.

It was too late. He pitched forward, his eyes closed even before he hit the ground.

_**BREAK**_

Evan was an extreme sort of person. Extreme skateboarding, extreme skydiving, extreme bungiecording… whatever the sport was, he took it and made it _way _cooler.

This new extreme sport was dangerous and illegal, although that never stopped the sixteen year old before. He'd first heard the idea from his girlfriend and partner-in-crime, Sammi, who was supposed to go with him on this extreme adventure.

But she'd gotten sick, which was never a good thing if you're about to do something illegal _or _extreme. Evan knew that, and Sammi knew that. Evan was more then willing to reschedule, but the time frame was delicate, and Sammi insisted that he do it, just for the sake of saying he did.

So now Evan was out here, doing something that was never done before, or at least, not by any sixteen year old in his school.

Extreme quading.

The four wheeler he'd borrowed (and he refused to say stolen, because he really was going to return it) bounced along the dunes of the Nevada desert, squashing cacti and other plants. This trek was off limits, apparently belonging to a wildlife park, but it had the best dunes and hills, and there was just no way he wasn't going to try it.

Attached to his helmet was a camera, and he screamed into the microphone.

"You gotta try this, Sammi! Oh, my God, it's awesome!"

Sand kicked up behind him as he steered the four wheeler around and around in a donut. _Five more minutes,_ he told himself. _And then I'll leave._

He left in three.

And the reason he left in three, was the man laying on the ground, face forward, handcuffed and looking very, very dead.

Evan stopped suddenly as soon as he spotted him, spraying sand all over the man's back. Wildly he scrambled off the four wheeler and knelt by the man's side.

"Dude, are you okay?" he asked anxiously, turning him over.

The man didn't answer. His eyes were closed and his face was both pale and very red from sunburn at the same time. He was shivering, though, much to Evan's relief. _He's alive. He's alive._

Illegal or not, Evan knew when someone needed help. So he took out his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

_**BREAK**_

Greg knew that Henry, or at least, Gus, knew that he was about to do something stupid. He could see it in the older man's eyes; it was probably something his son did every day.

But that wasn't going to stop him from doing it.

As he fingered the device in his pocket, looking out the window as his escort drove, he contemplated just how stupid, not to mention highly illegal, this act was going to be. But he wasn't about to take orders from an idiot like Ecklie.

The two pulled up to Greg's apartment, the headlights shining on the door. Greg smiled a bit forlornly at the cop.

"Sorry, Olson," he said.

Before the cop could ask what for, the CSI lunged forward and pressed the stun gun to his neck.

There was a _zzzt. _Olson's eyes went wide and then snapped closed, his body slumping until his forehead hit the steering wheel.


	5. Silent As a Mouse

**Well, this took longer then usual. Sorry guys. :P Hope this makes up a little bit.**

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

What the hell was that?

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

It sounded familiar.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Like a… heart… something. It was a heart something. It measured the beat of his heart.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

_ His heart?_

He was alive. He knew that. Nothing else came back to him except that incessant noise.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

His eyes were still closed.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

He couldn't feel a thing, except for a buzzing in his head.

_ What happened?_

_ Where am I?_

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

_ I'm in trouble._

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

_ It's a heart monitor, _he realized. Like what you found in a hospital.

How had he known that?

He must've been in a hospital before.

Before what?

He couldn't remember.

Hospital… a hospital was a place they treated hurt people.

But he wasn't hurt… was he?

He couldn't remember.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

A hospital… that meant he really was in trouble. But from what? No memories came back to him.

And then he had a scary thought.

_Does anyone know I'm here?_

_ Does anyone care?_

Because if he didn't know why he was here, how would anyone else know?

Surly someone was looking for him. Surly somebody cared to see if he were hurt.

_But how will they know if I don't even know?_

And even scarier: _And who am I to them? Who am I… at all?_

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Warrick woke with one hell of a headache. In a hospital room, no less. As his eyes pried open a wave of dizziness hit him full in the face and his stomach rolled. Warrick breathed in, refusing, _refusing, _to throw up.

"Easy," came a quiet voice.

The African American recognized it instantly. "Greg?" he croaked, forcing his eyes open. White invaded his vision so harshly that the pain of his headache came full force to the front of his forehead. He groaned. "Ow."

"Take it easy," Greg said again, this time a little more firmly.

Warrick coughed out a laugh. "Hypocrite."

He opened his eyes again and saw the younger man frowning disapprovingly. "Hypocrite?" he repeated. "Me? Never."

Warrick snorted. "You're funny, kid."

Greg grinned. "I'll be here all week."

A grimace came across Warrick's face and he attempted to sit up. Greg gently but firmly pushed him back down again.

"You've got second degree burns and a concussion," he said sternly. "I wouldn't be moving for a while. Trust me; been there, done that, and never, ever going back to it."

"Alright," Warrick said, collapsing back against the plush pillows. "Have it your way." He looked around the empty room. "What time is it? And where is everybody?"

For a split second a guilty look flashed across Greg's face, so quick Warrick wasn't sure he'd seen it. "It's almost four," he said, answering the first question. "You only been out for two or so hours."

"That explosion," Warrick remembered. "Yeah, I was the first up there. There was a package sitting on the lab table. I remember going to see who it was from, and then—"

"Boom," Greg said quietly.

Warrick turned to look at him. "It was Montgomery, wasn't it?"

The younger man hesitated. "We think so, yeah."

"Right." With a sigh Warrick pushed the back of his head further into the uncomfortable pillow.

Greg stood. "I should let you get back to bed," he said. "Grissom will be here soon. He had… stuff to do."

Warrick frowned. "That sounds a little foreboding."

Greg smiled. "You have no idea."

With that he slipped out of the blue curtain that surrounded Warrick's bed and disappeared from the room.

Officer Jacob Olson was in trouble.

He knew it from the moment he woke up. Even before that, when thousands on bolts shot through his body from his neck, all the way down. The very man he was supposed to be protecting _Tazed _him. That never bode well with his superiors.

So when he woke to the anxious face of Gilbert Grissom, head of the Crime Scene Investigations lab, the most he could do was groan and try extremely hard not to cry. The cop was only twenty three, still a rookie to his peers, even with his excellent aim and by-the-book attitude.

"You alright?" Grissom said, looking concerned. "He got you pretty hard."

Olson closed his eyes miserably. "I'm so sorry, sir," he babbled. "I seriously wasn't expecting him to pull out that stun gun. I don't even know where he _got _a stun gun—"

"Olson," Grissom interrupted, "it's alright. Greg is… going through a hard time. It's no surprise, alright? You're not getting blamed for this."

That statement should've made him feel better, but something popped out at the young cop that made his whole face darken. "You're saying you knew this was gonna happen, and you still assigned him to me?"

Someone in the back snickered; Olson could just make out Lt. Carson Neil, the resident prankster of the force. He scowled. It would figure that Neil found this funny.

Grissom looked uncomfortable with the question. "If he didn't," he said, "when we thought he would, and we didn't assign him an escort, Montgomery would have a clear shot at him. So it really was a good thing you were there."

Olson snorted. Right, because being Tazed by a CSI was a good thing. "See, I know this," he said, his voice accusing despite the pounding in his head. "My English teacher taught it to me in eighth grade as a persuasive strategy. You ever hear of it? It's called "burying the bad news"."

Grissom's eyebrows pushed together and he shot a look at the officers and CSIs gather around outside the car. "I think Greg might've hit him over the head before he Tazed him," he said, his voice one hundred percent serious.

"He didn't," Olson snapped. "I'm just saying, next time warn me that someone I'm supposed to be protecting might snap and electrify me instead!"

Now the officers were openly laughing. And Olson could only glare.

Ecklie took a deep breath. And then another.

Grissom watched as he slowly hyperventilated. Granted, Ecklie never took anything lightly. But this was a little ridiculous.

"What do you mean, you _lost him?" _he demanded through his teeth.

A shrug was all he got as a response. "More like he lost us."

"Do you know what this is going to do the department?" Ecklie screeched.

Grissom winced. "Well, after the explosion I suspect we'll get some bad coverage."

"Bad doesn't even begin to cover it," Ecklie hissed. "Find him, Grissom. We need Sanders back!"

With that he whirled on his heel and stalked out of the office.

Catherine came up behind him, eyeing the distraught Assistant Director.

"So," she said curiously, "how'd it go?"

Grissom watched as Ecklie threw aside an unfortunate lab tech unlucky enough to get in the way of his wrath.

"I think he took it pretty well."

"Come on," she said, tilting her head back towards the lab. "Danny's found something he wants you to take a look at."

Grissom gave her an inquisitive look and followed her into the lab.

The young CSI looked up from a map on the table, his eyes gleaming with something familiar.

"So Shawn wasn't the only one who left a message," he said casually, but Grissom could see just how excited he was. "Adam carved this into a tree. Rangers found it and reported it as vandalism, but I managed to hear a few of the CSIs talking outside and put two and two together."

He pushed a piece of paper towards Grissom and the older man eyed it, taking it in his right hand and sliding on glasses with his left.

"What is it?" he asked after a minute.

"It's his family emblem." Surprisingly, it was Mac who answered.

Danny shot him a startle look before nodding. "Yeah. Adam made it on one case where royalty was involved."

"Wait a minute," Nick protested, "Adam's descended from royalty?"

"No, no," Danny said, hastily corrected himself. "He just got the idea after the case was closed."

The "emblem" was merely a circle like thing with an arrow and two swords intersecting through the middle.

"Where was this found?" he asked Danny.

The younger man shrugged. "I sent Catherine to go ask."

The blonde walked around the table, grabbing the remote from her supervisor's hand.

"Way North," she noted as the picture loaded. "All the way up in Smith Valley."

"Smith Valley," Grissom repeated with surprise. "How'd they end up way up there?"

"I'm starting to think Lassiter's right in his wild goose chase theory," Sara muttered, casting a quick glance at the Irish detective. He looked smug.

"Where is Smith Valley?" Juliet asked for all of the rest of the people who hadn't been to Nevada.

"It's by Carson City, sort of," Catherine told her. "Which is also by the Nevada-California border."

"So they went way down south," Gus said, frowning, "to way up north in the space of a day?"

"They're moving pretty quick, yeah," Mac mused. "I wonder if they're breaking any speed laws, or if they're just using some back roads."

"If they were speeding," Lassiter added, seeing where he was going with the thought, "we could probably catch them and hold them for a while."

"But we have no idea who they are," Gus pointed out. "What are you going to do, arrest every speeder that falls in your trap and hope they've got Shawn and Adam in the trunk?"

Everyone winced involuntarily. "Nothing that crude," Mac corrected. "We've got facial recognition programs—" he looked towards Grissom for confirmation, and the older man nodded. "—that we can run through. Some of those guys we've got on tape, and we can eliminate the dead—" another wince; jeez, this was getting hard "—guys," he finished lamely.

"Get on it," Grissom told Catherine, who nodded.

"Do we know where Greg is?" he asked wearily to no one in particular. "We've got to find him before he does something stupid."

"Nothing after Tazing Olson," Danny said darkly. "Kid knows how to disappear when he wants to."

"Don't we know," Grissom said, sighing a bit.

Nick knocked on the door to the hospital room Warrick was in. The African American turned his head and managed a smile.

"Brought you something," Nick said, smirking, as he held up a bag from Jack in the Box.

"Oh, bro, I love you," Warrick grinned, reaching for the bag. "Bacon hamburger?"

"No tomato, no onion," Nick confirmed. He grabbed a chair and scooted it closer to his friend's bed.

"Sweet," Warrick said, reaching inside the bag.

"So, what was Grissom doing?" he asked curiously.

"Looking for Montgomery and Greg," Nick said, his face darkening a bit.

Warrick paused with the burger halfway into his mouth. "Greg?"

"Yeah," Nick said, shaking his head. "The kid Tazed his guard and took off. We can't find him now."

"When was this?" Warrick asked, a frown on his face.

Nick checked the clock hanging on the wall. "About an hour ago."

"Greg was just here though," Warrick said. "Check the cameras, and we should process this scene. Maybe we can find out where he was going—"

"Rick," Nick said, half laughing, half sighing. "You're not going anywhere. And Greg is smarter then that, remember? He's long gone, although I have a feeling he'll be close by."

Warrick held his gaze for a few more seconds, his lips pursed and looking like they were ready to argue, and then he sighed, leaning back against the stacked pillows.

"You're right," he admitted. "But… why would he do this to us?"

"That's a good question," Nick agreed.

"This sucks," Sara groaned.

"Tell me about it," Danny said, pulling on latex gloves. "We should be out there, looking for Adam."

"And Greg," Sara added. "And Shawn."

"Not the point, Sara."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know. We should be searching for our people, or arresting Montgomery. Not…"

"Not processing crime scenes?" David said, coming up to them.

Sara smiled at the assistant coroner. "Don't tell Grissom I said that."

"My lips are sealed," David muttered, miming the action.

The three of them stood in the middle of an ally on the Strip, hands on hips. The afternoon sun was starting to set. Sara checked her watch. 5:31.

"Let's get this over with," she sighed.

She knelt with Danny by the body, a young prostitute with barely anything on.

Danny whistled. "You see these a lot?"

Sara shot him a glare with a half-raised brow. "Getting sexist, Messer?"

"Who, me?" Danny grinned.

The banter was nice, but Sara missed Greg's sense of humor. Danny reminded her a lot of the newborn field mouse.

"Looks like blunt force trauma," she noted as she knelt by the prostitute's head. Her blonde hair covered most of her face but from where Sara was, she could see how her blue eyes—oh, those were definitely color contacts—were outlined by thick eyeliner and mascara.

"Her neck's broken," David reported, gesturing to the bruises around her neck.

"Do we know what she died from?" Danny asked him.

"Probably this one," David replied, "but I won't know until Doc Robbins can do an autopsy."

"Right, Sara sighed. "Alright, we'll process the scene. David, wait until we complete the pictures before you load her up, alright? And call Grissom—ask him why the hell Day Shift isn't processing this."

Danny looked at her with an amused expression. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Sara ran a hand through her short hair and smiled.

Montgomery ran a loving hand across the H&K PSG-1 sniper rifle. He'd gotten it from Germany—what a war loving country—and completely untraceable. It had been his first rifle from the get-go, and now, it was going to bring him much satisfaction to Gilbert Grissom.

He rested the butt of the skinny sort of gun against his shoulder. Technically this wasn't the proper way to hold this particular weapon but he loved the recoil as it slammed back into his chest. In the mirror, bruises had always lined up his entire right shoulder.

The scope had night-vision, although he didn't need it being in broad daylight. He peered through the lens, thrilled at the amount of power he felt resting on the rooftop with the powerful sniper rifle in his arms. Montgomery breathed in, and then out, a ritual of his that he was reluctant to let go.

Through the crosshairs he spotted the commanding Sara Sidle. She hadn't been apart of the Las Vegas Crime Department when he was a lab rat, but research had done its part, especially in some specific and interesting rumors about the relationship between her and Grissom.

_Take away those he loves the most… starting with his lover._

Montgomery pulled his lips into a fierce, wicked smile. The thrill! He watched as Sara bent at the waist to pick something up, holding it to the remaining light in the allyway.

His right finger tightened on the trigger as he focused the crosshairs of the scope to rest on her pretty brown eyes, and then her forehead.

Out of the corner of his eye he made out another man, tall and blonde with a set of glasses on his nose, dive towards Sara. The thought amused him. He would not miss.

He refocused his aiming and pulled the trigger.


	6. Repercussions

**Three more chapters, guys! Hang with me! **

**Enjoy!**

"Are you sure you're okay?" Grissom demanded again. Sara looked at him with an annoyed look.

"I'm fine, Griss," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and letting the doctor bandage a spot above her eyebrow. "He only nicked me."

Grissom ignored her protests and turned to Dr. Briggs, who was treating her. "Are you sure she's alright?" he asked anxiously. "No brain damage or anything?"

"She's got a slight concussion," Dr. Briggs admitted. "It wasn't from the gunshot, though, so she'll be fine. Just take it easy for the next few days."

Danny stood in one corner, watching her. She eased herself off the edge of the examination table and went to him, smiling slightly.

"Thank you," she said quietly, giving him a hug. "If it weren't for you, I'd be dead."

"It wasn't me, Sara," he said, frowning. "Trust me, I was too far away and you couldn't hear me. He missed, and that's not something snipers do, even amateur ones."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sara said. "Unless he wanted to give us a scare, which he'd never do, then there's no reason he'd want to miss."

Danny looked at her. "Who ever said he wanted to?"

Montgomery.

Shawn tried to think of everything he knew about the name, and the person, but try as he might, he couldn't focus on him. He couldn't focus on anything, at the moment, other then how much his wrists hurt, and how much his head hurt, and how hungry he was. How long had he been here? A day? A week? It felt like months. Everything hurt. Everything just throbbed with pain, physically and emotionally.

He was alone.

Shawn wasn't used to being alone. He'd be with Gus, or with Jules, or with his Dad, hell, even Lassiter. Anybody, anyone who would enjoy his company, he'd be there. He told himself that it was because they liked being in his company, which was always a nice thing to think about, but ever since he was kidnapped, he begun to realize something.

He needed them. He really, _really _needed them. Anybody. Any good face, kind voice, a friend, he _needed _to be with them.

But here, he was alone.

With any luck Adam had escaped and wasn't dead. Shawn knew that, at the very least, Tony was alive. Shot in the arm, yes, but alive. If Tony could do it, so could Shawn. Right?

Shawn lay in the backseat of the car, absolutely miserable. His shoulders screamed in protest from being pulled back so far for so long. The rag in his mouth was soaked, even though his mouth itself was about as dry as paper. The blindfold felt like it made a permanent indent around his head, along with his wrists and the handcuffs. His stomach rumbled every five seconds, and he was so cold he thought he might die.

Well, this supremely _sucked._

They'd been on the road for a while. Shawn lost track of exactly where they were going. Even he didn't know the stations of the radio that well—the Arizona thing was a one-time thing, and this kidnapper didn't like the same style that he did, which was starting to get on his nerves.

What Shawn wanted to know was why they hadn't been pulled over yet. He couldn't hear any traffic outside the car, but it was relatively silent—probably a Mercedes or another car that blocked noises outside the car. He did, however, know that they were travelling way too fast to be the speed limit, only stopping for gas and some food, which Shawn never got a bite of. For all he knew they could be halfway through Mexico by now.

All he really wanted to do was cry. He didn't know how far from home he was but it felt like he was oceans away and getting farther. It wasn't a good feeling. Trapped with a kidnapper who never talked and never offered him food, travelling to God knew where and cramped from hours of lying on in the back of a (supposed) Mercedes, and completely and utterly alone for most of the ride. Isolated. Forgotten about. He could disappear right now and nobody would ever know.

Of course, Shawn could act. He could pretend he was okay and pretend that he wasn't scared witless. If it were Tony or Adam or even Greg with him now, he could pretend, be the strong one, find a way out.

But Shawn didn't even try to pretend now. He could never lie to himself.

The car eased to a stop.

Shawn blinked from behind his blindfold. The car, he just now realized, never stopped. _Ever. _No traffic, no stop lights, no stop _signs—_the only time it did were when the kidnapper was getting gas.

There was something different about this. Shawn couldn't tell what, but his gut was tingling like suped-up Spidey senses. Something was up.

The door opened.

Shawn jumped when somebody grabbed his ankle and pulled him off the seat. He hit the ground with a moan of pain, sliding down the rest of the way. Beneath him were many, many rocks. It felt like gravel.

"Nice to see you again," Montgomery said.

Shawn froze. He didn't even need his blindfold off to tell exactly who it was speaking to him. Montgomery was apparently back from his "road trip", and now it was time for Shawn to die.

He didn't know what to make of it. What a weird feeling—he always wanted something to happen while he was on the road. Something to keep his mind off the boredom, and the guilt that Adam and Greg might be dead. Being dead himself hadn't made the list.

What if it was worse? What if Montgomery was just going to torture him and never kill him? What if it never ended, if whenever the cops got close they'd just pick up and leave and it'd start all over? What if Montgomery added more people to the list? What if he never did kill, only tortured, and this never ended?

What if this never ended?

Shawn didn't think he could handle that.

"Silent, huh?" Montgomery chuckled. "Bring him."

Two hands grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him up to stand.

Pins and needles shot up through Shawn's legs, all the way through his arms and chest. He pitched forward with a muffled cry, writhing as best he could with bound arms on the gravel as he fought the "sleeping" feeling.

A sound of disgust met his ears and then he was pulled up again. Shawn sagged, attempting to balance on his feet and finally took a step without falling flat on his face again.

"Come on, Shawnee," Montgomery sing-songed.

Shawn's blood ran cold, and he shook off an unwanted memory. If he weren't gagged he would be cussing Montgomery out, out of character or not. Nobody called him Shawnee and lived free.

He was led someplace, a house or cabin, probably, and made to sit in a chair. They un-cuffed one of his hands and then re-cuffed him firmly to the chair, then slid off his blindfold and took out his gag.

Shawn blinked in the sudden light, pain shooting to the front of his forehead. He groaned, rolling his head back and closing his eyes again.

"Would you like some water?"

He cracked his eyes open a bit, staring at Montgomery. The younger man had an almost sincere look on his face, holding out a water bottle. It was unopened and probably especially reserved for him. Shawn didn't know if he should be suspicious or grateful or creeped out.

Montgomery unscrewed the cap and held it to his lips. Shawn sipped, swallowed, and gulped some more. The water felt cool and relieving running down his throat, but it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy. Before he was done, and before even half the bottle had disappeared into his stomach, Montgomery took it away again and set it on the table next to him.

Shawn took that time to finally figure out where he was. It was bright in the room, the sun shining through the windows at the top of the wall. Debris had been scattered about like they were purposefully trying to trip somebody, mostly consisting of paper, beer bottles, and glass.

There was a table to his right, and the door was located somewhere behind him. Other then that it looked like a plain room with virtually nothing in it. Shawn still couldn't tell where in the world he was, but, judging from the looks of the shack, he guessed it was a corner nobody would find him is. This place was about as abandoned as they got.

"We're going to do a little exorcize," Montgomery said pleasantly. He had grabbed a Coke from somewhere behind Shawn and had cracked it open. "You're going to tell me where Adam is, and you're going to tell me now." He took a sip of the Coke. "Or you won't like the consequences."

Shawn stared at him, starting to get a bit of old defiance back in him. "What are you talking about?"

Montgomery paused, as if he couldn't believe Shawn had dared to say that. "Your _friend,_ I should say, has escaped. I want you to tell me where he went."

"How should I know, pal?" Shawn said, glaring at him. "I don't even know where we are now, much less where we were when he ran. Or, for that matter, where he went after that."

"But you're psychic, aren't you?" Montgomery said, innocence in his voice. His expression darkened. "Or are you? I've always wondered."

A chill raked its way up Shawn's arms and neck. "It's not that easy," he complained. "I can't just turn my powers on and off like Superman. The spirits don't like talking to those who threaten their connection into the physical world."

Montgomery laughed. "You're funny. Most of my other victims were begging by this point, and all you can do is crack jokes." Then his expression shifted again, dark, stormy, and angry, and he walked around the chair, directly behind Shawn, sipping his Coke. "You've got one more chance, Shawn."

Shawn paused a bit. "Nope, they're still not talking."

For a split second, nothing happened. And then Montgomery grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked it back, smacking the back of his head onto the back of the chair.

A cry left Shawn's lips but was interrupted abruptly as Montgomery took his Coke and poured it onto his face.

Ice cold soda splashed onto his face, and Shawn's mouth closed automatically, snapping shut with an audible _click. _His eyes squeezed together before the carbonated liquid could get into his eyes. The Coke ran off his face and onto his shoulders, soaking his shirt and running down his arms.

And then it got into his nose.

Shawn sputtered, choked, and coughed, pain shooting to the front of his head like fireworks. Knives stabbed over and over again into his sides, his throat and lungs burned with the carbonation making the bubbles snap, crackle, and pop over and over again. He couldn't stop chocking, couldn't stop coughing, and still more soda poured through his nose.

Montgomery tipped the Coke back to a straight position and watched with amused fascination as Shawn attempted to stop coughing and choking.

"I bet that doesn't feel good," he noted, a dark look on his face. "And look, we've got a six pack!" He took a step back and made a sweeping gesture with his arm at the pack of Coca-Cola cans sitting on the table.

Shawn barely noticed. He'd managed to stop coughing but it still felt like there was Coke in his lungs. He cleared his throat, feeling light headed.

"So ever going to tell me your secret?" Montgomery asked, pouting a little bit.

God, his lungs burned. Shawn dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head, still clearing his throat.

"Oh, well, how disappointing," Montgomery commented. He didn't sound in the least bit disappointed. "Well, looks like we'll have to try again."

Greg rubbed his wrist. He'd never fired a gun for real before. It reminded him of one of those cop shows where the hero shot the bad guy in the head and then later remarked, "I was aiming for his arm."

He chuckled dryly. In truth he'd actually been aiming for Montgomery's head, but oh well. It worked out okay.

The weird thing was where he went after he (almost) shot him. Greg wasn't much of a sharp shooter, but he did track well. That was how he found Montgomery in the first place, and when he learned that he was aiming at Sara—well, his best instinct won out between what he'd been trained.

It was such a shame that he missed, though.

He was in on the bus now. It was late in the evening, but he didn't dare turn on his phone to see just how late. Even though he had been a lab rat most of his CSI career, he'd seen what Grissom could do with a tracker, and he wasn't going to take that chance. Not yet, anyways.

Greg slammed his fist against his leg. He almost had him! Montgomery was _right there. _The bullet didn't hit him—it was actually far, far left—but it startled him enough to miss his shot on Sara. That was always a good thing, even though he disappeared as soon as Greg got over there.

If only he hadn't been on the ground. If only he'd just taken the time to climb the fire escape and arrested him then—but no, Montgomery was too slippery for that.

Greg sighed, resting his head on the back of the seat. He missed his friends. This "fugitive" thing was getting really old, really quickly.

He wondered where Montgomery was now. Probably with Shawn and Adam, he figured. It must've been hell where they were.

When he woke up, the sun was shining through the blinds in his window. He guessed it was sunset, judging from just how low in the sky the sun was. The clock above his head said 7:42.

It frustrated him how he could remember these logical things, and not his own name.

A nurse had come in a few hours before to snap his picture. "Procedure," he told him after it was through. "We'll put up flyers and see if anyone recognizes you."

_If. '_If' was a scary thought. If nobody recognized him, would he be in this hospital forever? The nurse told him it was more then likely that he'd regain his memory; until then, however, he'd have to stay in the hospital.

That was fine by him. The thought of going outside was unappealing. Where would he go? The nurse said that the city he was in was Vegas, but that didn't mean much to him, other then flashbacks of bright lights and casinos. What was he doing in Vegas? Did he live here? He didn't think so.

So he waited. The nurse made copies and gave one to him. He looked at his face—it had been beaten. That thought was terrifying. What had happened to him? His curly hair had been washed, but he was told that he'd looked much worse. Harsh coughs raked his body, and he knew he was sick. The picture showed just how exhausted he was. He looked away. It didn't seem like anybody would recognize him in the picture.

A few hours later it was nighttime. He fell into a fitful sleep, frustration and pain in his nightmares. He woke up a few hours later, screaming, and a nurse ran into his room with a syringe. She emptied the contents into his IV, whispering calming words into his ear. Very slowly he drifted off to sleep again, this time without the nightmares.

Danny shoved his hands into the pockets on his sweatshirt. Vegas might've been hot in the day time, but at night it was just as cold as New York, and he didn't appreciate that.

He'd been walking to his hotel after seeing Sara in the hospital. It wasn't smart, and Danny knew that. There was a serial killer out there targeting the team of his targets, and he qualified. But sometimes he just needed to clear his head and forget about everything else.

Why had Montgomery missed? It didn't seem likely that he'd do it on purpose. And if it were an assassin then Sara would definitely be dead. What was the point of scaring them? Did they get interrupted in their attempt to kill Sara? What had interrupted them, then?

Or who. The answer to that was pretty obvious, Danny realized. Greg wasn't running away from Montgomery—quite the opposite. He was running _to _Montgomery.

"That crazy kid," he muttered to himself. Whatever he'd done had worked, but if he'd managed to stop Montgomery, why hadn't he come back by now? At least to see if Sara was okay?

Too many questions and not enough answers. It felt like this case would never get solved, and nothing bothered Danny more then a cold case.

He shivered in his thin sweatshirt, wishing more the ever that Lindsay were here with him.

As he walked he passed a sign. His hyperactive CSI mind registered the picture first, before his body had a chance to react to it. Suddenly he ran back to the flyer hung on the billboard of a Safeway, eyes wide.

_ Do you know this man? _the sign asked. The "man" they were referring to had curly brown hair, bleary eyes, and a small beard around his chin and mouth. He looked sick, and he looked exhausted, but it was definitely him.

"Adam," Danny breathed. He peered at the address on the flyer. "The hospital!"

Excited, he grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open.


	7. Heart Breaker

**Few more chapters to go, guys! Thanks for hanging in with me. Enjoy!**

"He's right through here," someone said. He looked up, first peering at the time, and then at the door. It was early in the morning, almost seven, but there could only be one reason someone was asking for him.

The nurse came in first, and he flashed a quick smile to him before two more men followed through behind him. One was tall, with piercing blue eyes under wire rimmed glasses. His blonde hair was cropped short and spiky. The second man was shorter, but straighter in posture, with longer, darker hair and hawk-like features in his face.

"Adam?" the second man said.

He blinked, his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to remember what that meant. "I'm sorry?" he whispered, his voice scratchy and confused.

"It's us, Adam," the other one said. "Danny and Mac. Don't you remember?"

"I'm sorry," he said again, a little stronger this time. "I don't…"

"He probably won't be regaining his memory for a while," the nurse said to the two men. "Try to steer clear of giving him false memories, too. That's the last thing we need."

The shorter man nodded at him. "Thanks, Doctor."

He sat up a little more in his bed, eyeing them. Neither of their faces looked familiar, nor was "Adam," which he suspected might've been his name.

"Adam," the shorter man said. "I'm Mac. I'm your boss. Do you remember what for?"

"No false memories, Mac," the other man—Adam assumed he was Danny—reminded the other man.

Adam was starting to get annoyed. "I'm right here, you know." It came out barely over a whisper, but held an intense sarcasm that he'd never used before.

Danny smiled at him. "Now that sounds like the Adam we know," he said proudly. "Now, do you know where you work?"

_Microscopes, whirring machines, chemistry, vials—_

Tentatively, he ventured, "A… a lab? Like a science lab?"

A broad smile spread across the two men's faces and they glanced at each other.

"That's right, Adam," Mac said slowly. "It's sort of like a science lab."

_Gunshots, bullets, scenes, mapping, fingerprints, blood—_

Adam tensed. "A… a crime… lab."

_Collapsing. Explosion, danger, vault, scene… crime scene… truck… Irish… Irish accents… "Danny, look out!"_

A violent shudder ran through Adam as he stared at Danny in a whole new light. "Danny…" he said slowly, like he was tasting the name on his tongue. "Danny Messer."

"Yes!" Danny said, standing suddenly. He sat again, but this time, on the edge of his seat, getting excited now. "You remember me," he breathed.

"Danny," Adam said again, and turned to Mac. "Mac… Taylor."

Mac gave him a triumphant nod. "You remember anything else?"

_Touching, hot, fast, bed… curly brown hair, bright brown eyes… "Stella," he whispered._

"Stella Bonasera," he said. "Sheldon Hawkes. Lindsay… Oh, God…"

He fell back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no… what the hell happened?"

"You remember?" Mac asked anxiously. "You remember where you were?"

"What?" Adam demanded, opening his eyes again. "What? Where—why am I in a hospital? What—"

The beeping on his heart monitor got louder, and more frantic, by each second. A nurse rushed in.

"You need to leave," he told the two detectives shortly.

"Wait, wait, no," Adam pleaded. "What happened? Mac, tell me what happened!"

The nurse injected something into his IV, which he would've been tempted to rip out if he weren't so focused on his boss' retreating back. "What _happened to me?"_

His vision blurred. For a moment he fought it as angry tears started to pour down his face. And then he lost all of his energy as the door closed with a click, and he fell back against the pillow, the tears still drying on his cheeks.

Shawn gagged. He choked, and gargled, coughed, and still pain was shooting to the front of his skull. Needles stabbed into his sides and throat. It felt like no matter how hard he tried, the Coke was still in his lungs, even after Montgomery tipped the last can upside down to find out it was empty.

He was aware that hot, burning tears were making tracks through the sticky soda on his face, but at the moment he didn't care. The psychopath was gone, probably to do one of his "road trip errands" he said he'd do.

His head hurt like hell. At one point or another he was sure he'd passed out, but the torture roused him again and it started all over.

The pain in his arms and shoulders from being tied to the chair so long was lost in the effort to clear his lungs of the liquid. That task was made even harder by the gag that had been placed in his mouth once again. A blindfold covered his eyes, tied tightly and throbbing with the rhythm of his aching head.

A thump echoed throughout the room and he jumped, pressing back against the chair in an effort to make himself as small as possible. It was a pointless idea—he was handcuffed to a chair, for God's sakes—but his initial instincts couldn't be altered.

Someone grabbed his ear. _"Mmmmph!" _he huffed in an annoyed sort of pain.

"You're coming with me," Montgomery told him, his voice holding a little bit of cheer he had before Shawn ultimately pissed him off with him not answering even under the threat (and carried out) of torture.

The rope around his chest was untied and he was hoisted up. Shawn's legs buckled, but the firm grip Montgomery had on his forearm kept him upright, however painful it was.

As he ducked out of the door with the psychopathic killer, a smell hit him. It was rusty, strong, and made his eyes water behind the blindfold. _Blood… _but he couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Montgomery pushed him into a tiny space—trunk, Shawn thought bitterly—and gave him a smile he couldn't see. "Don't worry, Spencer," he purred. "It'll all be over soon."

The trunk lid slammed down.

"But he remembered," Danny insisted.

"Not everything," Mac corrected. "He didn't know why he was in the hospital, or what happened with him and Shawn and Greg and Tony."

"We can't expect him to," Grissom put in. "The mind is a delicate organ. Adam's a CSI—he notices the little things. He'll probably remember tiny details of his abduction, and it won't come together immediately."

They were gathered in the crime lab now, evidence scattered across the glowing, white table. All three teams were here; Lassiter and Juliet lounging by the wall, Gus pressing closer to Nick, Henry by his side, Warrick leaning unsteadily on Catherine, who was next to Grissom, who was next to Mac. Danny and Hawkes hung back in the corner, and Sara stood in the doorway.

"But he will remember," Hawkes spoke up for the first time in a while. "Adam's like that. He always bounces back from things like this."

"Until then, we can't use him," Grissom told him regretfully. "It's good that he's recovering, don't get me wrong."

"We need to find Shawn," Gus said stubbornly. "Adam was found in Vegas deserts—Shawn could still be here!"

"Guster, we don't know that," Lassiter sighed from behind him. "For all we know, Adam had been in that desert for the whole time we were looking for him and Spencer."

"You don't know that, either," he shot back, whirling on the detective and stalking right up to him. "If Adam can remember—"

"That's a big fat 'if'," Lassiter snapped. He took a deep breath. "We have to consider the possibility that even if Ross does remember what happened, it may be too late."

"Lassiter," Henry growled from behind Gus.

Gus blinked for a second, and then he drew back his fist and punched him straight in the mouth.

Lassiter flew back against the wall, his head snapping to the side. He shook his head to get his bearings, stood up straight again, and looked at Gus.

"Gus," Juliet said, stunned.

The African American's expression was locked between mortified and royally pissed off. He looked at his hands, and then at the rest of the law enforcement officers in the room, who stared at him with looks of pity and surprise.

"We'll find him," he said, turning back to Lassiter, all of his anger apparently gone in one sweep. "We can find him in time, Lassiter. Don't ever say something like that again."

Juliet sighed. "Gus—"

"Not you too, Juliet," Gus said, his voice breaking. "You didn't give up on him when he'd been shot and kidnapped, or was standing two feet from Yang, alright? Neither of you did, and he wouldn't on you, either, so let's not now. He's alive, he will be alive when we find him, and _we will find him!"_

"You're right," Catherine said quietly, reaching up to rub his shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find him, and we'll put Montgomery behind bars. We promise, okay, Gus?"

He looked at her with an angry expression, like he didn't believe her. And then he sighed. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. And then he turned and strode out of the room.

"This is so hard," Sara said, turning to watch him leave as he brushed by her.

"You have to understand," Henry said, rubbing his face, "Gus and Shawn—they've been best friends since they were five. And, no offense, but all of your guys are safe. Shawn is still out there, probably with that sociopath, and more likely then not, dead."

"He's not dead," Grissom said darkly. "Montgomery gets off on pain. He'd rather see the looks on our faces when we see one of our guys died. He still has Shawn, but that means he's keeping him for some ultimate reason, and he won't kill him in private. That, at least, buys us a little time."

"We've finally processed all the evidence," Catherine said, stepping in. "So far as we know, the bomb was homemade, and on it was trigger activated."

"Wait," Juliet said, frowning. "That would mean Montgomery was within eyesight of us when we walked into the lab."

"Which would mean he would have to have been at the lab itself," Nick realized. "Which means—"

"He might be on the tapes," Catherine finished. "I'll go get Archie."

Archie Johnson was having a rotten week. One of his best friends had been kidnapped by a sociopathic killer, who just happened to be the guy he took his job from, returned and then disappeared again on a futile search to find the other captives, and he was stuck staring at torture videos all day.

The Asian rubbed his eyes tiredly. Non-stop he'd been staring at the brutal torture session of not only his teammate and the other captives, but from those from the past. None of them were pretty. He could only imagine what the last captive was going through. Montgomery was scary creative.

Catherine strode into his lab and stood behind him as the tape of a brutal murder of a young, promising EMT from Philadelphia as he slowly burned to death by hot poker.

Archie paused the tape and rubbed at his eyes again. "What's up Catherine?" he said, looking up at the blonde.

She studied him for a few seconds. "Archie, how much sleep have you gotten the last few days?"

He bit his lip, not about to admit that he hadn't actually been to sleep since Greg had been taken. "Enough. Was there something you needed?"

Catherine shook her head at him, probably knowing he was holding something back but not pushing it any further. "We think Montgomery might have been in the station before or during the explosion. Think you can pull up security tapes from around that time?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," he said, quickly typing a few commands into his computer. His eyes quickly scanned the screen as it for any faces he didn't recognize.

"Wait, here," Catherine stopped him, one hand on his shoulder and the other pointing at the screen.

Archie bristled as her finger brushed the monitor but paused the video anyways.

"Close in on his face."

He clicked and dragged the curser, creating a square around one man's face. He was ducking behind the phone booth, jacket collar up to his ear and cap pulled low on his face, but there was a perfect view as he stared up at the camera for half a second. Archie was impressed; he never would've been able to see that like Catherine did.

"Alright…" he murmured, typing in a few more commands. The security cameras followed Montgomery as he went into the elevator, down to the garage, and climbed into a dark blue Toyota Corolla.

"Got the car," Catherine said triumphantly, leaning down to peck Archie on the cheek. "Thanks, Archie."

"No problem," he said, grinning a little bit.

"Get some sleep," she called over her shoulder as she walked out.

Archie dropped his head onto the table.

"The plates are blocked, or covered, or something," Catherine said as she passed the picture of the Corolla around the table. "Montgomery wasn't just smart—he was sure he'd be in and out before anyone noticed that he was illegally hiding his plates."

"Arrogant bastard," Lassiter muttered.

"No kidding," Nick added darkly.

"The point is," Catherine said, rolling her eyes over their comments, "we can track him."

"How?" Gus asked, having returned after a quick walk to cool down. "You said his plates are covered. And have you counted how many blue Toyota Corollas are hanging around Vegas?"

"But Montgomery made a mistake," Catherine pointed out, and she pressed her finger into a tiny spot on the car.

Gus squinted. "Is that a…"

"Bumper sticker," Sara finished, amazed. "How can you see that?"

"It was familiar," Catherine said, shrugging. "Popular bumper sticker. It reads, upside down, "If you can read this, flip me over!""

"Why would a psychotic serial killer want a bumper sticker?" Gus asked, making a face.

Nick shrugged. "People have quirks," he answered. "You never know exactly what they are, but they're unique to every person. Even psychotic serial killers."

"Well, psychotic serial killers are going to have to wait," Grissom said, walking in at that time. Nobody had noticed he was absent, or when he'd taken his leave, but he was back now, and he didn't look happy.

"Griss?" Catherine questioned, worry in her eyes.

"Ecklie wants Nick and Hawkes processing a scene on the Strip," he sighed. "Better get going."

Both men looked at each other, and then back at Grissom, each ready to protest, but one look from Grissom, and from Mac, quieted their objections.

"Here's the address," Grissom said, holding up a card. Nick took it from him and scowled, walking out with Hawkes.

Shawn wasn't sure when they stopped. He'd been drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling as though he'd been sleeping all year, and yet not getting enough sleep at all. The contradictory feeling left him reeling with a major headache and a rumbling stomach. Now that Shawn had been left alone and conscious, still trapped in the back of the trunk.

Well, he assumed it was the trunk. It was a tiny confined space. It was musty. But he was, after all, still blindfolded, and that meant he could literally be anywhere.

Now that he'd been left on his own he had some time to think.

About Juliet.

And Gus and his father, and Greg, and Adam and Tony, and Montgomery, and that blood-like smell in that shack he'd been in, and the Coke torture.

Mostly Juliet.

What was she doing right now? Was she missing him? Well, of course she was—he knew how much he meant to her. After all, it was _she _that kissed _him _in the first place… however embarrassing that may be.

Man, he missed her.

He missed her smile and her eyes when she was rolling them at one of his antics, and when she stood up for him whenever Lassiter got annoyed with him, and how she always came to his rescue bearing that gun of hers like a really hot Charlie's Angel… everything about her made him go crazy.

The funny thing was he could _act, _he could pretend that he didn't care, even when he did. That was how he coped with things. He'd learned that a long time ago. So, when she was in danger, he hopped right to it, saved her like the hero he was, and covered it all up with quip here and there. Whenever he was in danger, he could always brush it off, leave it be, wait for her to come and everything would be okay.

Except that Shawn didn't want to act anymore.

He wanted to get down on one knee and tell her the _truth! _He always thought he knew himself inside out, enough to do what he needed to do and get on with his life. Every girl he'd met before, even Abigail, he was acting for. He was always acting. Juliet was the only one he felt like he could be himself around. His _real _self, the one no one took seriously.

But he was too scared of rejection, he never told her.

And now he might not get to.

It wasn't fair.

A _thump _echoed throughout the trunk and Shawn froze, shaken out of his thoughts. A click and a creak later and the trunk had been open. A hand closed around his arm and jerked him up and out of the trunk, effectively making him land face first on the ground.

Shawn moaned through the gag and tried not to breath in any of the loose dirt that covered the ground.

"Come on, psychic," Montgomery said, disinterest coloring his voice. "Time to meet an old friend."

What? What old friend? Was that Montgomery's old friend, or Shawn's? His thoughts immediately turned to Gus. If that bastard hurt him—

"Let him go."

Shawn froze again. He knew that voice. That voice should be dead.


	8. So Happy Together

** I'm baaaaack! Sorry for the wait; you guys are so patient! Now that Nano's over I can start writing again. Anyways, enjoy!**

Gibbs was fuming.

Ziva could see it. McGee could see it. Abby, Ducky, and NCIS Director Vance could see it. In fact, every agent in the building could sense his fury as he paced back and forth between Tony's desk and McGee's.

Nobody dared to say a thing, except maybe Vance, who looked a combination of amused and concerned. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo had been home for less than two days, and he'd disappeared again, leaving a note on Gibbs' desk saying, "Sorry, Gibbs, but they need my help."

Gibbs had never been this angry with his senior agent. His pacing slowed a bit as he fully thought about what he was thinking. Tony might've been a first class cocky lady-chasing playboy, but his heart was in the right place. Gibbs suspected that his kidnapping hit a little closer to home then he let on, which only served to worry him more.

He was never one to worry, unless, of course, Tony was involved.

That _idiot._

The air was chilly, which wasn't odd for Las Vegas in the evening. Greg buttoned up his collar and grabbed the Glock from the holster on his hip.

Montgomery was almost making this too easy to track him, which made Greg increasingly nervous. The man was a serial killer, and an experienced one at that—not to mention his teammates haven't caught him yet. He doubted he even knew where they were.

Right now his primary concern was his friends, the hostages he had found a new friendship in. Adam was in the hospital, safe, the last time he saw him, from a distance of course. Shawn was here, just out of reach as Montgomery pulled him from the trunk. Tony… Tony was missing, and Greg intended to find out just where Montgomery was keeping him.

He leveled the gun at Montgomery's head and didn't hesitate to step out.

"Let him go."

The older man jerked in surprise, once, before his hand tightened on Shawn's shoulder and he was pushing him in front of his body as a shield.

"Greg!" Montgomery looked genuinely delighted by the turn of events as Greg stepped out of the shadows, both hands on the .45 Glock he'd brought along, steadily aiming at his head.

Shawn stood on shaky legs, held up by his forearm by Montgomery. His hands were cuffed behind him, and he was blindfolded and gagged. At the sound of Greg's voice he jerked and turned his head towards him.

"Let him go," Greg said again, his voice venomous. "Or I'll shoot you, I swear to God I will."

"Now, is that any way to treat a friend?" Montgomery tsked. "You can't shoot me, Greg."

Greg's lip curled in a snarl. "Watch me."

Montgomery yanked Shawn in front of him. "No, I don't think you can," he said as Shawn struggled against him. He slipped something over Shawn's neck and grabbed the gray bob at the end of the string.

"Know what this is?" he asked, waving his hand.

With a sudden chill Greg's blood ran cold. It was a grenade.

"See, with a normal grenade you have about five seconds before it detonates," Montgomery said happily. "Think you can shoot me dead before I take out the pin?"

Greg's grip tightened on the gun and he released the safety.

Montgomery raised a brow. "Too bad this isn't a normal grenade. The detonator is set to explode the instant I let go." Slowly he took out the pin. "Oops! Now what?"

Shawn started to breathe loudly through his nose and he jerked back, somehow knowing without needing to look that he was in some serious danger. Greg's hands shook slightly as he stared from Montgomery to Shawn to the grenade and back again.

"You'll blow yourself up, too," he said gruffly.

Montgomery shrugged. "I wouldn't mind, if it meant taking you out."

"You've got serious issues," Greg growled.

"I know. Now, put the gun down before I blow a hole in Shawn's chest."

Greg glared at him and slowly lowered the gun.

Montgomery smiled. "Good boy. Now, put it down and kick it over."

As soon as Greg did he replaced the pin, picked up the gun, and pointed it at Greg. "Get inside."

"Inside" turned out to be a shack. Greg knew exactly where it was and how he'd found it, considering all the emotional ties Montgomery had to it. The bad guys weren't the only ones who did their research.

"Still living in the past, I see," he commented venomously. Shawn shot him and inquisitive look, but Montgomery beat him to the punch.

"What would you know about my past?" The question was genuine, which only served to both Greg a little more, as he shoved the two down on their knees in the middle of the room.

"I know you used to come here when you were a teenager," he replied. "It was the one place you could be yourself."

Montgomery leaned over Shawn and untied his gag and blindfold. "And?" he prompted.

"And," Greg said slowly, "nobody knew about it until I discovered your vlog on youtube."

"Dude's on youtube?" Shawn coughed out as soon as the bandana was out of his mouth.

"Under a false name, of course," Montgomery said pleasantly, enjoying the attention. "Even as a child I was careful."

"Or paranoid," Shawn retorted.

The younger man looked at him with an arched brow. "Do you want to test my paranoia?" he asked dangerously, as if he dared him to say yes.

Shawn gritted his teeth. Greg suspected under normal circumstances he would've agreed; the defiance that shone through the psychic's eyes could've melted an average killer on the spot. But Montgomery wasn't average. Not even close.

Montgomery walked around the two and sat in a chair in the corner of the room. "I didn't think so." He nodded at Greg to continue his story.

"It wasn't hard to find you after what I knew about you," he said. "I figured you'd want to brag about your extra-curricular activities as a mercenary.

"But you weren't just a mercenary. You enjoyed the work so much, you started killing on your own. So once I had the names of the victims I suspected you of killing, I ran a scrambler through youtube, and a bunch of cartoons popped up."

"It was a genius way to disguise my work," Montgomery shrugged. "Unless you looked closer, it appeared to be some child's story for kicks."

"That's a twisted way to get your kicks," Shawn said with a face.

"Says the man who pulls people's strings by pretending to be psychic," Montgomery said idly.

Greg didn't miss the way Shawn's face immediately paled, but the older man rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I told you before," he said, "I'm not pretending. Lay off."

"Anyways," Greg said, before Montgomery could retaliate, "I found some of your earlier videos, where you used to go hunting. Of course, right after you caught your prize you went home and dissected it, taping it for your own sick pleasure."

"How'd you find those?" Montgomery asked curiously.

"Police confiscated the tapes when we almost caught you four years ago," Greg provided.

"Ah, yes," Montgomery said, sighing. "When it all fell apart." He eyed the CSI with contempt. " I remember you back then, Sanders. Young… what were you, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three," Greg replied through clenched teeth.

"So young," he murmured. "You know how old I was, Greg? Twenty-six. I was young, too. Grissom liked me best. He told me so. I was the best in the business, Greg. And you took that away from me."

"You were killing people," Greg reminded him. "Any sane person would've done it."

Montgomery tilted his head towards the psychic, noticing his confused face. "How about it, Greg? Why don't you fill in your fellow captive about what happened, all those years ago?"

Greg glared at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to pull, and then turned his head to look at Shawn. "My job interview with Grissom required me to do some detective work," he said. "I was supposed to pick someone in a position that I wanted my job to be, and evaluate them.

"I picked Montgomery, because I wanted to be a lab tech. Did some research, followed up some leads. It was supposed to be a fixed investigation, but... I found something that made me go to Grissom."

"What was it?" Shawn wanted to know.

"Montgomery was being paid more than the average salary. A lot more. I hacked into his bank accounts, showed Grissom the results, and had him questioned." He paused a moment to glare at Montgomery, who was sitting still in his chair with a grin on his face. "That's when he took Jessie hostage."

"Who's Jessie?"

"Jessica Stewart was the Audio/Video lab tech at the lab," Greg explained to Shawn. "She was a really nice, just doing her job, and tried to be a hero. So… he shot her."

"And I escaped," Montgomery added. "You forgot that part." He got up and walked around the two, hands clasped behind his back. "Afterwards, nobody would hire me. Do you know what that does to me, Greg? The cops froze my accounts; I couldn't access anything."

He grinned wickedly. "I found the Think Tank first, you know. All the way in Salem, Oregon. They were rich, so I could ransom off their youngest. Such a sweet thing," he cooed.

Greg looked startled. "Ransom? Adam didn't tell us that…"

"Adam," Montgomery snarled, "was an idiot." He blinked and sighed, sitting back down in his chair. "Yes, the New York Crime Lab investigated," he admitted. "They were good. Did you know they were called the best team on the East Coast? 'Course, not enough to catch _me, _but definitely close. After that close run-in, I decided to target Adam Ross, youngest member of the CSI Crime Lab in New York; at least, a part of Mac Taylor's litle band of nerds and labrats with guns."

"You messed with the wrong team of law enforcement," Shawn said, shrugging. "One little mistake, and it could cost you your freedom. Hopefully your life."

"Now, Shawn," Montgomery said chidingly, "is that any way to talk to the person who holds your life in his hands?" He nudged the grenade that hung around the psychic's neck. "I would shut up if I were you."

"I'm _bored," _Shawn complained. "Bored, tired, hungry, thirsty; I just want this to be over."

"I told you it would be, didn't I?" He arched a brow at the two and crossed his legs at the knee. "Don't worry; your friend will be here soon."

Both captives frowned. "Who's friend?" Greg asked at the same time Shawn inquired, "Greg wasn't the friend?"

"You'll love the surprise," Montgomery assured them. He paused, tilting his left ear towards the ceiling, and grinned. "In fact, I think he's here now!"

He got up and practically skipped out the door, Greg and Shawn staring after him, bemused.

"Are you okay?" Greg demanded, finally turning to his friend.

Shawn let out a shaky breath. "Better, now that you're here." He flinched. "Oh, that sounded selfish."

"It's alright," Greg said, sighing. He brightened a little bit. "You'll be happy to know that Adam's alive."

The psychic blinked. "Really? Where is he?"

"In the hospital," Greg replied. "He's suffering from amnesia at the moment, but hopefully he'll remember something soon enough."

"So all of us are alive," Shawn mused. "Amazing. 'Course, that could change in a few minutes."

"Way to be a pessimist," Greg commented dryly.

Shawn grinned in response, but a gunshot echoed throughout the room and made both men jump in surprise.

A few minutes later Montgomery hustled somebody in through the door, one hand pressing a gun to the back of his neck, the other holding him by the arm.

The newcomer's face was hidden by a black hood over his head, and his hands were bound behind him. With a flourish, Montgomery ripped off the hood and let the two get a good look at the newest captive.

Greg and Shawn stared.

"What do you mean, he's gone?"

Grissom had heard the words way too many times the last few days, but he never expected the words to be coming out of his own mouth. If the agent was right in front of him he would've stared at him incredulously, but for the moment he settled for the wall of the crime lab as his team gathered around him.

"Exactly that, Grissom," Gibbs spoke into the phone. "He left us a note. Something about how you guys need him. He's probably already in Vegas by now."

The CSI pushed his glasses up on his face and rubbed his eyes. "Right," he said slowly. "I guess I could have some of my guys pick him up, if we can find him. But Gibbs, if Tony's already in Vegas, he hasn't contacted us yet. He could be undercover like Greg is."

"Greg?" Gibbs demanded suddenly. "What happened to Greg?"

"He's missing," Grissom said reluctantly. "I should've told you that. Adam's in the hospital with amnesia, we have no idea what happened there. And Greg ditched his guard after Tazing him and he's been missing ever since."

"God," Gibbs groaned. "This is a nightmare. Alright, we're coming back to Vegas."

"That might not be necessary," Grissom started to say, but Gibbs interrupted.

"No question about it. We're about to board, anyways. See you in a few hours."

Gibbs hung up. Grissom sighed and closed his phone as well, looking around at the various faces peering back curiously at him. "Tony DiNozzo might or might not be in Vegas," he admitted. "He did exactly what Greg did."

"Great," Lassiter said, tilting his head back. "Now we've got too defiant victims out and about in Vegas. Perfect."

"No need to get snippy," Catherine chided. "This might be a good thing. Do we know where Tony is?"

Grissom shrugged. "No clue. But we can have Archie do face recognition and track him, maybe."

"Probably not," Catherine corrected, frowning. "I sent him home for some sleep. Maybe somebody else used to running Audio/Video?"

"I can do it," Hawkes spoke up. "Computers aren't primarily my thing, but I think I know what I'm doing."

"I'll help you, then," Catherine said, and they walked out of Grissom's office.

"Danny and I are going back for Adam," Mac announced, much to Danny's delight. "I bet that sedative has worn off by now. Maybe he can tell us something about Shawn."

"I need to go find Gus," Henry mused aloud. He nodded at the remaining members of the team and started to head out, when Nick came crashing in.

"I knew this card looked familiar!" he exclaimed, waving a card in his still gloved hands.

"Nick?" Grissom prompted.

"When Hawkes and I were processing that Strip scene," he elaborated, "this card was pretty much the only thing we could find, save for the blood. There was no body or anything. Just a card in a puddle of blood.

"Blood is running now," he continued, but he held up the new card once again. "But this has been cleaned, and guess who's it is?"

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's," Grissom said grimly, reading the name. "Gibbs is not going to be happy about this."

"I think I remember," Adam murmured. "Just vague flashes, but I remember some things."

Danny watched as a violent shudder wracked its way through his body and clenched his fists. Controlling his anger on this investigation was nearly impossible, but he knew that if he didn't get his emotions under control then Internal Affairs would have his head, and the last thing Adam, or Shawn, needed was him stuck in jail.

"What are the things that you remember?" Mac prodded gently.

Adam laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "After the guys grabbed us," he said, "we met up with the bad guy. I didn't know him, but he said his name was Montgomery, and he said he was going on a road trip. He let us go to the bathroom, but when Shawn went in… he did something that pissed off the guys who were in charge of us, and they knocked him out. I don't remember much after that, except we were locked in the trunk. It really sucked.

"After that… we were still in the trunk but I was starting to feel terrible. Shawn asked what was wrong and he said I was sick or something… when he banged on the trunk for help, he told me to run when he said. So, he said run and I ran." He shrugged. "I don't remember anything after that."

"That's alright," Mac said, nodding his head encouragingly. "You did good, Adam. We'll go home soon, but first we have to find Shawn, Tony, and Greg."

Adam glanced up sharply. "Tony? Greg? What happened to them?"

Mac and Danny looked at each other. "We think Tony may be back in Montgomery's hands," the elder man said cautiously. "And Greg is MIA. We're pretty sure he's still okay, just going after Montgomery himself."

The youngest CSI blinked, and then attempted to throw off the covers. "I need to help them," he grunted, attempting to swing his legs over the side.

Danny rushed towards him and gently, but firmly, pushed him down again. "Oh, no you don't," he said. "You're not out of the woods yet, Adam."

"I'm just sick!" he protested.

"You were tortured, physically and emotionally," Mac corrected him. "Your body and mind are in no shape to tackle a serial killer."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"I'm not losing another victim!"

Adam glared at him. "I am not a victim," he seethed.

Mac sighed and got up, walking to the side of Adam's bed. "I know you're not," he said gently. "But three out of the four people who were kidnapped are still missing. I don't want Montgomery coming anywhere near you."

The protective words eased Adam's scowl a little bit, and with a huff he fell back against the pillow again, refusing to say another word until Mac and Danny had left.

Tony was in trouble.

He couldn't remember much after the man jumped him in that ally, but he knew he gave that pretty girl his card. So maybe Gibbs would be able to track him.

And maybe not.

He blinked for a few seconds, trying to adjust to the new lighting after Montgomery took his hood off, and then his eyes focused on the two men kneeling on the floor.

Shawn. He was still alive but looked way worse than Greg, which was saying something because Greg looked terrible. Something hung around his neck; as Tony got a closer look he could see it was a grenade attached to a string.

Greg, on the other hand, was looking particularly better than the last time he'd seen him; near dead and in the hospital.

Despite the serial killer at his back Tony felt the need to crack a joke. So he grinned a little at his fellow captives and said, "So! Did you miss me?"


	9. Teetering

**Okay, so I lied. NOW it's two more chapters. :P**

**Enjoy!**

Gus looked up from the balcony and quickly diverted his gaze. His cheeks burned from his outburst, although his dark skin would never allow it to show, which he was thankful for.

Henry joined him in leaning across the railing, pressing his back against the thin bar of metal. He stared at Gus for a long while, and then, abruptly, pulled him into a hug.

The younger man was so surprised he almost forgot he was hiding how embarrassed he was. Henry had always been like a second father to him. Despite the strained relationship between his best friend and his dad, Gus could see that losing Shawn after he'd been so close was hitting him harder than he let on.

Suddenly Gus felt like a jerk for being so selfish. He should've been in there, helping to find Shawn, like Henry was, but instead he'd punched a detective in the face and walked out like a child doing a temper tantrum.

Time to set the record straight.

"Sorry," he mumbled into Henry's shirt. The older man pulled back and looked at him with firm eyes, the kind of expression he got when he was serious about teaching Shawn a lesson.

"What for?" he asked finally. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Gus, at least not to me. You should probably apologize to Lassiter, though. That's gonna be one hell of a bruise tomorrow."

Gus' lips twitched as he fought an involuntary smile. "He deserved it."

Henry nodded. "That he did."

"But that's not when I meant," Gus continued, sighing. "I've been a brat, lately. I just… don't handle things like this very well. Shawn's never been _missing _for this long, and the idea that he's alive is almost scarier than if he were dead."

Dammit, he wasn't explaining this well. Gus took a deep breath and tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, I'll work harder. I will, and we'll find Shawn."

To his complete and utter surprise, Henry chuckled. Baffled, Gus watched as he pulled him into a hug again and let go.

"You never cease to amaze me, Burton Guster," he said, amused.

In spite of the situation, Gus had to smile. "Thanks?"

"Oh, it definitely was a compliment," Henry said. He sighed. "Gus, you're doing just fine on your own. Nobody expects you to keep your cool in a situation as delicate as this. Everyone else here—we've been trained, Gus. It's part of police procedure to distance yourself from the victim emotionally, so you can figure out what happened to them. Lassiter's taking this just as hard as you are; trust me when I say that. And if I'm being completely honest, you hung in there. Not only did you keep your emotions in check most of the time, but you also led us to a clue." He pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "That's why you're amazing, Gus. Don't ever think otherwise."

If bright red splashes hadn't shone on his cheeks before, they probably were by now. Gus had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from grinning like an idiot. Instead, he nodded, and followed Henry back inside.

"Talk to me, Grissom," Gibbs said as he walked out of the elevator and into the lab.

Grissom looked up with an expression of dark amusement. "Still blunt as ever, I see." With that comment out in the air he waved at Catherine, who picked up the narrative.

"We've traced the car Montgomery used after blowing up the lab," she said. "You weren't here for that. Hodges, one of our lab techs, put it back together and we now know that it was a trigger-activated pipe bomb."

"Trigger activated?" McGee repeated. "That means he'd have to be here to detonate it."

Catherine nodded and pulled up a picture on a tv screen. "Like I said, we've got his car. More likely than not it's been stolen, but…" she drawled the word out longer than she needed to, turning and raising her eyes at Hawkes, who just walked into the room.

"Got it," he said grimly. "Stolen about three weeks ago, but I managed to track it with traffic cameras." He produced a piece of paper. "Here's the address where it was last seen. I sent Mac and Danny over with Nick to check it out."

"We also found this at a crime scene on the Vegas strip," Sara said, and she handed the card to Gibbs. "It doesn't look good," she added quietly.

Gibbs took a deep breath. "Right," he said. "McGee!"

The younger man nodded. "Go through traffic cameras and figure out where Tony went after he landed."

"Ziva—"

"Go to the address and help Detective Taylor and Danny process, on it."

The two hurried off to do their respective jobs and Grissom arched a brow in Gibbs' direction. "Molded them into your perfect little soldiers, haven't you?"

The comment wasn't meant to be insulting but Gibbs shot a look at him anyways, matching his quizzical expression with a smirk. "Ziva David is already a soldier."

Tony was shoved down on his knees next to the two other captives, and he glared up at Montgomery as he walked around, snatching the grenade from around Shawn's neck.

"Oh, by the way," he said, waving it in the air. "This is fake."

Greg's blood boiled and his mouth twisted into a furious scowl. Shawn, on the other hand, looked annoyed.

"Yeah, thanks for that, dude," he snapped. "I nearly wet my pants right there."

"TMI, Shawn," Tony said idly.

"This, however," Montgomery interrupted, pulling out something from a bag beside the chair, "isn't."

The three captives became very, very silent as they stared at the block of C-4 Montgomery set in his lap. Seeing their expressions he grinned and wriggled his legs, causing Shawn and Tony to flinch back.

Greg, unaffected, explained, "C-4 isn't explosive unless it's hooked up to something."

"Very good, CSI," Montgomery said, delighted. "Good thing I have things to hook it up with." He reached into the bag again and pulled out a few brightly colored wires.

"Oh, crap," Tony muttered. "This was not in the plan."

The other two shot him incredulous looks. "You had a _plan?"_

The agent shrugged. "Sorta."

"And by 'sorta' you mean, 'not really'," Shawn said sarcastically.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Greg and Shawn rolled their eyes while Montgomery busied himself, connecting wires to a digital readout, and then connecting that to block of clay in his lap. He stripped and reconnected the wires, and then delicately placed it on the floor, setting the clock for one hour.

"When you take apart bombs all the time," he told the three captives, "you learn how to create one, too."

With that thought out and open he placed the bomb in the briefcase he'd brought along and then brought the briefcase over to the three, pulling out a third pair of handcuffs.

"Uh, you really don't have to do that," Shawn said nervously as Montgomery wove the chain around his own.

Montgomery ignored him and connected the two cuff ends with each other, locking them tight and fastening all three men to the bomb.

"Now," he said, dusting off his hands. "That should do it. I really wanted to draw this out a little longer, but at least you'll go out with a bang."

Tony groaned. "You have no idea how many times I've heard that joke."

"Ditto," Shawn added.

"Been there, done that," Greg replied with a smirk. _"Twice."_

Montgomery sneered at them and pressed down on the button. "In that case, I'm sure this'll be easy for you."

With a beep the clock started to count down, and Montgomery waltzed out of the room, closing the door shut behind him.

"Jeez," Shawn muttered. "I'm _handcuffed _to a _bomb."_

"I can't believe he's getting away," Tony seethed as he struggled with his hand cuffs.

"He's not going to leave yet," Greg said, the only one not trying to get out of the cuffs. "He's missing somebody."

Shawn stopped struggling and looked at him over his shoulder. His face was grim. "He's going after Adam?"

"Well, this is a development," Nick said sardonically, snapping a picture with his camera.

The body lay limp on the ground, a clean bullet through his head. His blue eyes were wide open, and they looked more pissed than betrayed or shocked. He lay half underneath the car, and half outside of it.

"I think it's that freelancer, Drake," Mac said, scratching his head. "How the hell does a serial killer get the jump on an assassin?"

"Good question." Nick snapped another picture and knelt to peer underneath the car. "Well, would you look at that?"

It was yet another one of Tony's cards, fluttering in the wind as it passed under the car.

"What is it?" Danny questioned as he knelt with him. "Tony was here?"

"Oh, yeah." Nick pointed across the car to a set of footprints. "Could you and Mac isolate those tracks?"

"No problem." Danny stood up and waved to his boss. "Tony was here," he said. "Nick wants us to isolate some footprints."

"Then I guess we better get started."

As Mac and Danny worked together to isolate and document the prints, Nick went around to the second set of tire tracks. Shining the flashlight, highlighting the deep indents on the gravel, he imagined Montgomery's giant boots stomping as he got out of his car, meeting this assassin… for what? Did he get the jump on Tony at the crime scene earlier?

If he did, then he probably was under orders from Montgomery. And if Montgomery was tying up loose ends, then…

"Hey, Mac," he said, whirling suddenly. "How was Adam when you saw him?"

Mac looked up from his kneeling position with a frown on his face. "He was upset that he couldn't help us. Didn't I tell you that already?"

"Yeah, you did," Nick said slowly. "But think about it: Montgomery has three of the four people he kidnapped. He's tying up loose ends early, which can only mean one thing."

"He's building up to the end of his game," Danny said, his eyes widening with realization.

"And that means he needs Adam," Mac said. He jumped up and started heading towards the borrowed Denali. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead," Nick said. "Danny, go with him. I can finish up here. Make sure Adam's alright."

Danny flashed him a thankful smile and pulled out his cell phone, hopping into the shotgun seat as Mac pulled out with squealing tires, heading for the highway.

Nick frowned, eyes narrowing as he followed the tracks with his flashlight. His watch said that it was almost ten o' clock at night. He rubbed his face. The entire Graveshift had pulled quad shifts, going on five now. He hadn't slept much at all in three days, and it was starting to wear on him.

But even with his exhausted state he could see that there were two sets of footprints, heading off into the woods.

Bizarre. Nick pulled his gun out, which signaled to his escort that there was some danger in the area.

"Sir?" he asked nervously, but Nick shushed him and pointed to the tracks.

"They went off on foot," he said in a hushed voice. "Which means there's either another car somewhere, or there's a house."

He ducked under the tree and found the house. The escort cop's eyes widened and he scrabbled for his radio.

"I'm calling for back-up," he said unnecessarily.

"I don't think Montgomery's in there," he said, his voice low. "There're tire tracks that suggest he's left already, probably to the hospital by now. They're still fresh; we must've missed him by ten or so minutes."

"I don't advise going in there," the escort replied. "Montgomery had mercenaries with him, remember?"

"We've already got four people," Nick argued. "We know that Drake was the last one in the videos, and the rest are dead. More likely than not, Montgomery's going after Adam by himself. What if they're _dead _in there?"

"Sir, at least wait for back-up," the cop said, grabbing at his collar desperately.

Nick flashed him a quick smile. "Isn't that what you're here for?"

He pulled out of his grasp, gun out, while the escort rolled his eyes skyward. Ever so cautiously, the two approached the cabin.

Adam fumed silently in his room. The clock said 9:51 pm, which only served to rotten his mood a little more. He couldn't sleep. Not when three of his friends were out there, with Montgomery, the sickest of all CSIs.

He didn't know much about Montgomery. When Flack had almost caught him, he was the only CSI to see his face. Try as he might he couldn't get the picture out of his head. The hard blue eyes, glaring at him, almost sealing his fate. _You're next._

At the time he'd no idea that Montgomery was thinking that when he spotted him. Now he did.

Adam threw his fist down against the mattress, and then again because it felt good. Safe, ha! He wasn't safe. And sure as hell wasn't a _victim._

His heart lodged in his throat. The fact that Mac thought of him as a victim hurt. The logical side of his brain told him it was because Mac was a cop, and cops weren't supposed to be emotionally connected to the _victim _in any way. But surely Adam was different, right? Didn't Mac care enough to at least tell him the details of the case? Keep him updated? Call him a _friend, _and not a _victim?_

A nurse knocked softly on the door, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Are you alright, Mr. Ross?" he asked kindly, opening it a ways. Light streamed in through the crack, making Adam wince.

The CSI sighed, uncurling his hands from the sheets where he'd gripped them so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm fine."

"Good." Without warning the nurse danced into the room, shut the door, and pulled out a gun.

Stunned, Adam gaped at him for a second, watching as he ran a hand through his black hair and showed his palm to Adam. The tips of his fingers and the heel of his palm was stained black, darker than the inside of the room.

"Shinola," he said, and his voice had switched lower, to a recognizable pitch. "Works every time."

"Montgomery," Adam stammered. Of course! The CSI was a _master _of disguise, no pun intended. It would figure that he could dress as a nurse on the fly and use shoe-shiner to disguise himself.

To the left of his hand was an emergency button. Maybe if he could reach it…

Montgomery obviously saw his finger twitch towards the button, because he pulled back the safety on the gun with a smirk. "Uh-uh," he said. "You'll come with me _quietly, _if you ever want to see Shawn, Greg, and Tony again."

Adam froze, staring at him wildly. So many questions popped into his head, but the one he blurted was, "You can't have Greg!"

The criminal arched a brow at him. "Why don't you come see for yourself?" He checked his watch. "I'd say they have another half an hour or so."

"Before what?"

Montgomery scowled. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Now, stop stalling. Get dressed; you and me are going for a walk.

"He's in the _hospital?" _Mac yelled into the phone. Danny winced as he pulled sharply around a corner, screeching tires and causing horn honks to follow them as they cut off several drivers after running through a red light.

Even hearing one half of the conversation, Danny could tell it wasn't going well. From the way Mac was yelling it seemed like Montgomery had slipped through security at the hospital and was now in it, probably heading for Adam's room.

They weren't anywhere near the hospital. Even Danny knew that. The stress of the situation was just now hitting him full in the face and he gripped the arm rest tighter as Mac pulled around yet another sharp corner at break-neck speed.

"We'll be there in five," Mac said, and snapped the phone shut. He yanked the steering wheel to the left, and looked at Danny for the briefest instant.

"Montgomery's in the hospital." It was a statement, and not a question.

In response, Mac slammed his foot on the accelerator.

Shawn had never been so scared in his life.

He could feel the clump of clay practically sitting in his hands. Despite his exhaustion he was shaking, shivering, trembling, physically hurting while he attempted to reel in his panic.

"Shawn," Greg sighed.

The pseudo psychic couldn't see either of his friends, as they were all back to back to back, each one chained to the live bomb. But that was probably a good thing. If Shawn could see the digital readout on the clock, or the look on Greg's face, whose voice sounded oddly calm, he'd probably lose it.

Instead, he swallowed hard and managed to force out, "This is a lot closer than three feet."

The statement drew a couple of laughs out of his friends, and Shawn offered a half-hearted grin. The terror was building in his chest. At any second the bomb could go off. At any second he could be blasted to tiny little pieces.

Oh, God... what would this do to Gus? Would Montgomery go after him? Probably not, but that was barely any comfort. He'd never get to tell his buddy how much he meant to him. He'd never get to see Lassiter's face when he discovered that his favorite psychic's dead.

He'd never get to tell Juliet he loved her.

An involuntary whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it, and Greg and Tony looked over their shoulder at him.

"This is a pathetic, awkward way to comfort somebody," Tony muttered, "but if it makes you feel any better, we'll get out of this."

"I know," Shawn said, throwing him a shaky smile over his shoulder. "We've been through worse, right?"

Greg shrugged. "I've literally been blown up."

"Me too," Tony added.

"Me three," Shawn sighed.

At that moment the doorknob jiggled. All three heads jerked up, but since Shawn was the only one facing the door the other two men had to turn their heads to see what was happening.

"Is it Montgomery?" Greg whispered.

"Why would he come back if he already primed the bomb?" Shawn said sarcastically. "It's help. In fact, the spirits are telling me it's one of _your _CSIs, Greg."

He didn't tell them that he'd seen the flash of the letters LAS VEGAS CRIME LAB through the window.

Greg didn't even hesitate. "Guys! Guys, we're in here!"

Instantly the door flew open, and in stepped two men. One was dressed in a cop uniform, and the other had the vest Shawn had seen. They both had guns.

"Nick," Greg sighed.

"Greg," the CSI said, and he dropped to his knees. "You must be Shawn. Hey, I'm Nick Stokes, and—oh, that's not good."

"What is it?" the cop asked anxiously.

"C-4," Nick replied. He looked at Shawn. "We've got about a half an hour before this goes off."

"We're handcuffed to it," Shawn said, jiggling his cuffs. "Nice to meet you, Nick."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Tony complained.

Nick looked at him. "Gibbs is pissed at you," was all he said.

Tony groaned, and Shawn let out a giddy laugh as Nick used the cop's cuffs to unlock the bomb's cuffs. Carefully he set it on the ground a ways from the three and set to unlocking their cuffs.

"Nick, where's Adam?" Greg asked desperately, rubbing his hands as soon as they were free.

Nick looked up at him and frowned. "Hospital," he said shortly. To the cop he said, "Call in the bomb squad and see if they can't defuse that thing. Guys, come with me."

"Where are we going?" Tony wanted to know.

Nick led the way out of the cabin. "To the hospital."


	10. Win It All

**SUPER long chapter for you guys. Enjoy!**

_"He's in the _hospital?" Mac yelled into the phone. Grissom winced and pulled the phone away from his ear before replacing it again.

"Yeah, it doesn't look good," he answered, kneeling by the fallen security guard. "He shot a guard in the head. There are traces of black ink here, so he might be in disguise."

_"We'll be there in five." _Mac hung up without saying goodbye. Grissom sighed and shut his phone.

"Sir?" one of the cops questioned. He had three men on him ever since he'd gotten Nick's call about Adam. The entire NCIS team was with him as well, along with Warrick, Catherine, Sara, and Hawkes from the CSI New York team.

Nearly everyone was here, at the hospital. So where was Montgomery?

Grissom had a feeling he was still in the hospital with them. Adam's room had been empty by the time they'd gotten there. Whether it was willingly or not, they didn't know, but Grissom could imagine. Adam's neatly folded hospital gown was lying on his bed, but other than that, there was almost no indication that he had ever been there.

Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. "He's still in the hospital," he muttered.

"What makes you say that?" Grissom asked, raising a brow.

"My gut."

Ziva and McGee traded glances behind him, Grissom noted. Apparently Gibbs' gut was famous.

He hoped it was right.

~.~.~.~.

This was weird.

Ever since Montgomery forced him to get dressed they'd been on the move, shifting through hallways and such. Adam wasn't bound, but Montgomery kept him in line with a gruff hand to the back of his neck and the gun that accompanied it. He'd warned him not to speak; Adam wasn't about to disobey.

But what were they still doing in the hospital? For nearly fifteen minutes they'd been scurrying around the nearly empty building, dodging security cameras and security guards. Not once did he see anyone he recognized, like Mac or Danny, anyone else for that matter. Didn't they know he was here? Didn't they know he was in trouble?

His heart sank and Montgomery pushed his head down again, watching warily as yet another guard ran past. Terror was the only thing keeping him from locking up. Sheer terror; he was _this close _to a major serial killer, closer than he'd ever been before to death. Irish gangsters—bring them on, if it meant getting away from Montgomery.

Adam shuddered. This man had been a CSI, the same job as him. He knew how to cover his tracks; if he wanted to, he could take Adam and Shawn and Tony and Greg away and they would never be seen again. In fact, that's what _almost _happened, if he hadn't gotten so sloppy with Greg.

"Freeze!"

Montgomery jerked first, taking Adam with him as he pulled the younger man in front of him. Suddenly the gun was _right by _his face, the safety off, and the cold barrel pressing into his temple.

Adam froze. Montgomery, however, did not.

"Grissom," he said. His voice implied that he said it as a snarl, but Adam could almost see the gleeful smile he'd been wearing the last – two? Three days? God, he didn't even know anymore.

But the thought was lost as he stared in both relief and sheer terror at the multiple guns now pointed in his direction.

Grissom was there. Adam knew who Grissom was; they'd met once, and only once. Four others stood next to Grissom: One strawberry blonde woman, two cops, and Hawkes. The African American looked horrified at the predicament his friend was in; Adam was just glad to see him.

"Montgomery," Grissom said. Venom leaked into his voice, betraying the fury he had masked by calm in his bright green eyes. "Let him go."

"That sounds familiar." Montgomery used the gun to stroke his chin for a nanosecond. "Oh, right—that's what Greg said right before I killed him."

Every muscle in Adam's body locked up. He saw Grissom and the blonde tense as well, but not as obvious as his was. Shame flittered through the rest of the jumbled emotions he felt enough to make him swear to hide his feelings a little better next time.

"You didn't kill him," Grissom said confidently.

"Oh, no?" Montgomery pulled Adam back a step. Was he going to run? Adam didn't know, but he wanted to stay here. Help was so close… fifteen feet. Fifteen feet away and he couldn't even _talk..._

"No," Grissom was saying. "You would've wanted me to suffer. You would've kept him and killed him, in front of me. Literally, though—no more of the camera stuff. That was your mistake. Actually, no—your mistake was taking Greg when you weren't nearly close to being ready for that emotional commitment."

Almost unconsciously Montgomery's arm tightened around Adam's neck, nearly crushing him. Adam gagged but the killer didn't seem to notice. "Don't you go telling me what mistakes I made," he seethed. "Your mistake was letting your _youngest _CSI tackle one of _my scenes, _alone! That was on _you, _Grissom. It's all your fault that Greg will die, and he will die in less than thirty minutes!"

Grissom didn't even blink. "Is that what you think?" he said. If Adam hadn't been so preoccupied with the serial killer holding him hostage he would've laughed at the subtle smirk hidden in the older man's face.

Montgomery pulled Adam back another step, but this one was more angled, curved. Barely turning his head, Adam risked a look back. It was no good; all he could see was the white wall of the hospital wing.

"That's what I _know," _Montgomery said smugly. "I can make it back to him and deactivate the _bomb—" _Adam noticed the almost imperceptible flinch in Grissom's face, and the more evident one in Hawkes', "—but you have to let me go first."

"That's not going to happen," Grissom said confidently, and with an ominous _click _he released the safety on the gun. Three more clicks followed, save for Hawkes, who was empty-handed.

"You're amusing," Montgomery told Grissom, smirking. "But, you see, you can't shoot me. Not when shooting me can both kill your partner CSI, here, and seals Greg's fate."

"Gerald," the blonde spoke up, leveling her gun at his head, "please, just let Adam go. He's innocent in all of this. Let them all go; we know you have Tony, too."

Adam shuddered; he hadn't forgotten about Tony and Shawn, as well as Greg, but he sure would've liked to. He gagged again as Montgomery backed up another step.

Montgomery scowled over Adam's shock of curly hair. "You're not allowed to call me that, Catherine," he said, his voice dangerously low.

Catherine's eyes were sad. "Alright, Montgomery. If you don't want me to I won't. But let Adam go. Take us to Greg and Tony and Shawn."

"You know I'm not going to do that, Catherine." He took another step backwards. Adam was still frozen in terror; he was dragging a dead weight. With that idea that was. Adam shuddered again.

"Why not?" This time it was Hawkes who asked the question. He took a step forward, still keeping behind the two cops because he was unarmed. "Why can't you let them go? Do you just have that much hate in you, to take it out on helpless, innocent people? No offense, Adam."

Adam managed to choke out a dry, "None taken," before Montgomery had shoved the gun further into his head.

"Your friend has a big mouth on him," he told Adam, completely ignoring Hawkes. "One day that'll get him into trouble."

Hawkes' eyes filled with fire and he took another step forward, prompting Montgomery to take another step backwards.

"Uh-uh, CSI," he taunted. "Stay right where you are, or the last thing you see of Adam is his dead eyes, staring a hole into your head."

Hawkes flinched, and so did Adam. For some reason that was all too easy to imagine.

"Will you kill him?" Grissom had taken over the questioning, tilting his head in a way that Adam didn't quite understand.

Montgomery seemed surprised by the question, too. "Of course I will," he snarled. "Is that so hard to imagine, Grissom? Do you not remember Jessie? I killed her too. Right in front of you. It was almost better than watching you writhe and squirm while Greg was tortured in front of your very eyes."

"I remember," Grissom said quietly. "Every single person you killed. That EMT, the firefighter, the cop, that girl in the Think Tank group, and Jessie. Am I missing anyone? Oh, yes—all of those people you killed for money as a mercenary."

An angry laugh choked out through Montgomery. "That's right, old man. I killed them all, every last one of them, just like I'm going to do to your CSIs. What are you trying to pull?"

Adam thought he knew. As Grissom talked, Hawkes caught his eye and then gestured with his hand, up and then down. Up and then down again. Adam stared, confused, before he realized that he wanted him to get down.

How the hell was he supposed to do that? He was locked in a death grip with a gun to his head and it was highly unlikely that Montgomery would ever willingly—

Adam's eyes widened. _Willingly._ Which meant he'd have to throw him off balance. Inwardly he groaned; there were only a few ways to do that and both of them ended up with a possibly bullet to the temple. One: he could push himself backwards into Montgomery's chest, catching him off balance. This was least likely to work; Montgomery was older, bigger, and stronger, and he had a gun. It was highly unlikely he could push him off enough to get away. Not to mention, Hawkes said _down, _and if Adam had any sense of intuition, he had a feeling that meant they would shoot if they had a shot.

The other option didn't seem as likely to work as the former. In fact, it was the oldest trick in the book, right next to, "Look out behind you!"

But it couldn't hurt to try. It was definitely better than getting a bullet in his head. Hawkes was still staring intently at him. Adam gave the slightest of nods, to let him know he had a plan, to which Hawkes redirected to Grissom. He got the message clear enough—_Wait._

Grissom, for his part, looked genuinely sad, but his eyes were hard as sharpened steel as he said, "Gerald Montgomery, you are under arrest for the murder of Jessica Stewart, Cameron Banes, Jack Landry, Christina Johnson, Kyle Barnett, and so much more."

Montgomery tightened his grip on Adam. "Oh, yeah?" he snarled. "What are you going to do about it?"

_Wait a second… _Adam frowned. Grissom, Catherine, Hawkes, and some policemen were here. He assumed that, because _his _CSI team was here, judging from the presence of Hawkes, and _Greg's _CSI team was here… or at least, that's what he learned from the blonde… that meant Tony's team, and Shawn's team… they must've been here too, right?

When that man attempted to bust them both out two days ago, it was almost as if it were personal. He was too old to be a cop… maybe a consultant? But that wouldn't work—the way he looked at Shawn, with extreme agony like it was killing him to let him go… his _father?_

Oh, jeez.

Part of Adam's team and part of Greg's team were here, in the hospital. So, where were the rest…?

Apparently Montgomery thought of this, too, because suddenly he yanked back Adam so hard he nearly crushed his jugular, pulling him back, farther and farther, all at one time. Vaguely he was aware of the shouts from Hawkes, Catherine, and Grissom, and the way they followed him—_Montgomery, _he reminded himself—with their guns. Terror, pain and confusion engulfed him in waves of sheer panic. What the hell was happening?

He knew he couldn't breathe. He knew—

Montgomery suddenly came to a stop, so fast Adam slammed into his chest and leaned against it for a minute, panting from the exertion before realizing it was a serial killer supporting him.

He was up against a wall. Adam had no idea exactly _which _wall it was, nor did he care, because, adding onto the four guns that had been trained on him before hand, now there were an additional seven people, standing at awkward angles, all with guns seemingly pointed at him.

"Worst human shield situation _ever," _he muttered.

"Drop it, now!" a man yelled. He had silver hair and sharp blue eyes, and a Marine's haircut. Next to him was a man, short brown hair, blue eyes, and a woman, with sleek, black curly hair, copper skin, and dark eyes.

"Who are your friends, Grissom?" Montgomery's eyes darted from one person to the next, clutching Adam closer to him. "Gibbs, and his team, Detective Lassiter, the rest of yours… huh. That's odd." Now he leaned his mouth close to Adam's ear and whispered, "Where your boss, Ross?"

Adam shuddered. He didn't know. Where _was _Mac? He would be here with the rest of the 'leaders' of the hostage's teams. For that matter, where was Danny? Mac and Danny told him when they came to visit that the girls had been left at home, but… where were they?

Maybe they planning another one of those sneak attacks. If Montgomery hadn't previously been in law enforcement, they probably would've gotten him just now. He was just too good. Montgomery had been a CSI. He knew pretty much every trick in the book when it came to cops, and by him calling Gibbs' name, who Adam remembered was Tony's boss from the way he talked about him, made him sound like he'd been an agent at some point or another.

_We need Shawn,_ Adam thought mournfully. Shawn was nearly impossible to predict. He was a _psychic—_as much as Adam didn't want to admit that he just now believed in psychics, there was no evidence to suggest otherwise, at least when it came to Shawn. But from what he remembered, and his memory still wasn't back to full health, Shawn was spontaneous and creative. He'd know exactly what to do to catch Montgomery off guard.

Montgomery had changed from his usual charming self into a man consumed by fury. His eyes darted back and forth between the guns and then further back, where he must've spotted someone of interest. Adam tried to follow his line of eyesight but could only make out two melded shadows. What was he looking at?

"Henry," Montgomery said. The fury was still there, but it had been masked by the charm of a serial killer. His voice was slick and dripping with pleasant slime. "You're Shawn's father. How does it feel, knowing your son must be dead by now?"

Henry Spencer. Shawn's father. Adam thought he got it now, why he was doing this. Montgomery was literally up against a wall here. He was going on the offensive; a cornered animal was the most dangerous kind. And Henry, from what Shawn had told him, might've been a cop. But he was retired now.

But what would he accomplish from taunting him? Henry didn't have a gun, Adam noted as the older man stepped forward out of the shadow. Odd; he didn't think the LEOs would allow an unarmed man to a hostage situation with one of the East Coast's most dangerous serial killers.

_Two _men. Adam frowned, eyeing the second man who came out with Henry Spencer. He was African-American, with a bald head and dark eyes that looked like they could melt Montgomery on the spot if they had the chance. _If looks could kill…_

He was unarmed, as well, but he stood a little further back behind Henry Spencer, as the older man bent into a protective stance in front of him.

Henry Spencer didn't answer. Instead his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he glared at Montgomery silently.

Montgomery chuckled. It sounded like it was on the verge of hysteria, bordering giddy and ready to snap. He didn't say anything after that. His laughing escalated until it was a full blown guffaw, booming and echoing throughout the hospital like an eerie criminal from a Hollywood horror movie.

Adam closed his eyes and the safety on the gun was pulled back. Montgomery's arm tightened around his throat, enough so he was strangling him. His arm pinched against the skin of his neck, but that was nothing against the panic that was starting to make his body shake as the barrel of the gun pressed, almost gently, into his temple.

Clicks resounded through the hospital as the guns trained on Montgomery, but Adam, shaking from the terror, shivering from his fever, sweating from the pressure, didn't see him. Something had stuck in his head that echoed and echoed until he finally realized why.

_A cornered animal was the most dangerous kind._

Montgomery was cornered. There was no way he was getting out of this alive. And he knew that.

~.~.~.~.

All Shawn wanted to do was sleep.

"No!" Greg yelled in his ear, and Shawn jerked up, smacking his head against the seat of the Denali.

The CSI pressed his face up close to Shawn's. Nick was driving, and DiNozzo was in shotgun, while Shawn and Greg were trapped in the back seat. This close up Shawn could see, even through the sleek blackness of the night sky and the black Denali, Greg's insistent green eyes.

"Don't go to sleep," he repeated. "I'm sorry, but if you do, you might not wake up."

Shawn was annoyed with him. That was all. He was so exhausted his thought process was consisted of scattered fragments and feelings. The adrenaline was running down, and now that he wasn't in any more immediate danger, his body's basic needs were starting to present themselves.

"I'm hungry," he mumbled. But he was more than that; he was so hungry he thought he could die if he didn't get anything. Earlier in the day he'd had water, but now he realized that Montgomery had only given it to him to keep him alive. You could go weeks without food, but only three days without water.

What day was this? Day three? Well, the _night _of day three. Shawn shuddered. Montgomery had taken three days of his life—he'd almost taken his life as a whole. Memories of the hand cuffs made his wrists hurt, and he rubbed them absentmindedly.

"I know you are," Greg was saying. "I know you're tired, you're thirsty, you're hungry, alright? And we'll get you all of that stuff, just let us drop you off at the station."

That woke Shawn up, and he turned and glared at Greg. "Adam's my friend too," he said sternly. "I know he's in trouble, and there's no time to drop me off. Just go straight to the hospital, and I'll try to keep up."

Greg and Nick exchanged glances in the mirror. "Shawn, you're on the verge of complete burn out," Nick said simply. "From what I can see, if you go any more—"

"I'll jump that hurdle when I get to it," Shawn said dismissively. He flashed a crooked smile at the three of them. "Let's do this thing."

They'd been in the car for a grand total of eight minutes. A lot could happen in eight minutes. Shawn wondered how those bomb squad people were doing with the bomb. Eight minutes, and that thing could go off and kill everyone.

_Way to be optimistic, Shawn, _he thought to himself sarcastically.

"Shawn?"

"What?" he muttered, startling awake. Greg peered at him anxiously.

"We're here," he said, pointing. "Now, stay here, and—"

"Wait, wait, _what?" _Shawn looked from Nick to Tony to Greg, who were all turned in their seats to look at him. "You can't just leave me here. I want to help!"

"You're in no condition to help," Tony said firmly. "Montgomery is in there, armed and dangerous. You're _finally safe, _okay? Let's keep it that way!"

Shawn opened his mouth to argue, but then he sighed. He was exhausted, anyways. What was one night to stand down, just this once? He looked up at them miserably, and then looked away, out towards the hospital through the tinted windows.

"Go bring him back," he muttered.

The three exchanged triumphant grins. "Promise," Tony said, and he opened the door, taking the gun Nick offered him. Greg reached through the glove compartment and pulled out another one, checking the ammunition.

"We'll be right back," he said to Shawn, who already looked like he was drifting off. "And don't fall asleep!"

"This is a bad idea," Nick muttered, running a hand through his short hair as the door shut on the psychic. "I don't like leaving him here by himself."

"You need all men on deck," Tony reminded him. "Something like this could strain Shawn beyond what his body could handle. With any luck, Montgomery won't be looking for a way to escape and find him instead."

"He better not," Greg said sharply. "I am not risking that chance. Let's get him."

They walked through the hospital doors, guns at the ready. Nurses had been gathered in the lobby, cowering with some of the patients that had been well enough to stand and walk and hide. They looked up, along with the hospital's security guards, who trained their guns on the three before Nick stepped up, shining his ID.

"CSI Stokes," he said curtly. "Where's Montgomery?"

"They have him cornered in the Birch Wing," one of the guards said, pointing. "He's got the NYPD CSI as a shield. Captain ordered us to stay in here and protect the patients."

Nick nodded. "You do that," he said, and nodded at Tony and Greg. "Birch Wing's this way."

The tiles almost seemed to slow them down. Greg was starting to get frustrated when they turned endless corners into endless hallways. They didn't meet another LEO on the way there, but this didn't bother Greg. No doubt the entire station was where Montgomery was, right now.

His gut clenched. Adam was being used a human shield. He couldn't honestly say he knew how that felt but he could imagine, and it wasn't pretty.

Out of all the hostages, Adam was, next to him, the most danger-shielded. The only bad thing that'd ever happened to him was being held hostage at his own crime scene by Irish mobsters—and that was bad as it was. Greg had been blown up, beaten up, and shot at. Shawn had been blown up, trapped in burning buildings, kidnapped, shot, shot at, used as a human shield… Tony had all of that, _and _had gotten pneumonic plague.

They were all a merry band of danger-magnets, except Adam. Adam was as strong as the next captive, but also the least experienced. The thought that he was Montgomery's last resort scared the hell out of Greg. More likely than not, Adam wasn't coming out of this alive. At least, not himself.

Greg didn't think any of them would.

They knew they were getting close when more and more security guards and local cops started showing up. Nick spotted Brass and hurried ahead, leaving Tony and Greg to lag behind.

"Brass," he said, "what's going on?"

The portly cop looked weary, but he had enough energy to do a double take when he saw Greg and Tony. "We tried to surprise him," he said, instead of asking, nodding through a pair of double doors. "Didn't work., and now we have no idea what to do next. He's cornered, Nick. If we push him any more he's going to kill Adam."

Greg didn't want to hear that, and it showed on his face and he gripped the gun tighter. "Where is he?"

Brass immediately shook his head. "Bad idea, Greg," he said. "If he sees you, he'll freak—it might not even matter if he loses Adam in the process. You're a trigger, and that's never good in hostage situations."

"Like hell," Greg growled. "I can't just sit back and do nothing, Brass!"

"You're going to have to," Brass said sharply. At the statement Greg's face fell, and Brass sighed at the expression. "Look—Grissom and the rest of them have him and it's only a matter of time, alright? Just sit back, go back to the lobby and get yourselves looked at. There's nothing you can do."

At that moment Mac and Danny came in, pushing their way through the small crowd of cops. "Greg! Tony!" Danny yelped, and he ran ahead of Mac to give Nick a fist-bump. "How did you guys get here? Where's Shawn?"

"Shawn's back in the car," Greg explained. "He's… exhausted. When did you guys get here?"

"About ten minutes ago," Mac said, finally catching up to the group. "It looks bad. Montgomery's asking everyone to clear out—they're listening to him."

~.~.~.~.

"Back up, _now!" _Montgomery yelled again.

Grissom glared at him, and only Gibbs matched the look in his eyes, if not surpassed it. They stood their ground, guns up and steady and aimed for Montgomery's head as he ducked behind Adam. And then, slowly, Gibbs lowered his gun.

"That's right," Montgomery snarled. "Down. And the rest of your team. But not you, Grissom." He took the gun briefly from Adam's head to point at Grissom, who froze, confused. "I want you here for this. Actually, Gibbs, Lassiter, you stay too. Everyone else—clear out."

Each member looked to their leaders for confirmation, and slowly, each nodded. Within seconds the space was filled with the five men.

"Such a shame," Montgomery murmured. "No Mac, huh? Poor Adam."

Adam was stuck between being furious at him and being jelly-legged terrified. Before he could find the courage to whisper, "He'll come," he did come. Mac ran into the room, gun out, and the fury in his eyes went unrivaled as he skidded to a stop.

"Let him go," he said shortly and calmly.

Montgomery chuckled, low and deep in his throat, but for once he didn't affect Adam. His eyes were on Mac, relief shining and his body trembling and his heart pounding and he never wanted anything _more _than to just grip his hand or—

He shuddered as the gun was replaced to the temple of his head. Montgomery leaned his face close to Adam's ear again. "Now that we're all here," he said cheerfully, loud in Adam's ear but apparently normal to everyone else, "we can finish this."

"You're not getting out of this," Gibbs stated. His voice was calm, almost casual, but he still had his gun out.

"Of course not," Montgomery scoffed. "Don't you think I know that?" He reached with the gun to ruffle Adam's mess of curls and chuckled when the younger man shivered again. "No, but one way or another, we're all gonna die. Adam here will die, Greg, Tony, and Shawn will be dead in, oh, fifteen minutes, and I'll die because you all will shoot me." His eyes found Grissom again and he smiled contently. "And you'll live with the knowledge that it was _all your fault _those men are dead. The best revenge I could ever take."

Mac contemplated speaking up about Greg, Tony, and Shawn but decided it wasn't something he needed to know. Right now they were playing the stalling game—anything else could prompt Montgomery to shoot Adam before any of them could get in a shot to take him out.

Grissom was wondering why Montgomery hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Was he waiting to see Grissom's face change in the slightest way, desperate to see _something _that'll satisfy his need for revenge before he died? Grissom's face was slack and serene, as it always had been, but inside his gut churned and the agony was almost too much to bear, thinking that if Montgomery did go ahead and to whatever it was he was about to do, which was, more than likely, shoot Adam, then everything he just would happen. Grissom would carry the guilt on his shoulders for the rest of his life, just like he said. And the least he could do was save Adam.

And then something caught his eye. The supply closet fifteen feet to Montgomery's left was inching open. It took every ounce of Grissom's will power not to widen his eyes and he forced himself to look at Montgomery again, who was staring at him with desperation in his eyes.

"All I wanted was to be noticed, Grissom," he said. There was desperation in his voice, too. "All I wanted was for you to notice me. You were my _idol, _did you know that? And then Sanders had to waltz in and screw that entire thing up for me." Finally his eyes turned down to regard the young man he was still holding hostage. "Well, the least I can do is kill Ross here," he snarled. "I've dreamed about this for a long time."

"Wait!" Mac yelled as Adam closed his eyes. "I have one more question!"

Montgomery paused, raising an eyebrow at him, and he continued, hesitant. "What is it about the face that has you so messed up? I mean, except for Greg, you punished one of your men when you discovered the face had been injured or something… why? What's so special about it?"

"Ah." Montgomery sighed and rocked back behind Adam again. The younger man slumped in relief, still forced to stand as Montgomery hid behind him. "If you must know, it's my trademark."

"I'm sorry?"

"My trademark," he repeated. "I was an assassin, you know. Every assassin has a trademark. I never touched the face. I hated to… mess up something so beautiful."

At this Adam shuddered again, and it had nothing to do with how Montgomery held him physically.

"Alright then," Montgomery said, and the gun came up again to press against Adam's head. "Time to die." He looked over at the four men in the room, quirking an eyebrow. "I wouldn't try to shoot me before I shoot him. It would suck if you killed the very hostage you trying to save, no wouldn't it? Trust me, from this angle… you'll all miss."

"I won't."

Montgomery's head whirled to the side, along with the rest of the men in the room. "Spencer?" Lassiter called incredulously.

Grissom's heart nearly burst at the sight of the young man. He was dirty, he was frazzled, and he looked like he had soda all over his face, but he was alive. Grissom had only seen him on tape but it was obvious this definitely was Shawn Spencer. Rocking on his feet, he looked like he could fall over at any second, but a gun—where the hell did he get _that?—_sat still and steady in his hands as he aimed it at Montgomery.

Adam's eyes widened, but his reaction was nothing compared to Montgomery. The killer spat out curse words, frozen in place, afraid to turn to Shawn because he'd expose his back to the rest of the team leaders, but afraid to stay still.

Instead the gun came around to point at Shawn, and as he pulled the trigger Shawn had already pulled his.

And he shot him through the head.


	11. Epilogue

**IT'S FINISHED! *dies* Wow, this thing took me, like, five months to finish. Sorrrry, guys!**

** I'd like to thank my wonderful frequent reviewers, Wragziez, embrace_the_deception, slylittlefox, and LightGirl101, and to all of my other reviewers, with special thanks to Wragziez and Antivertigo for your awesome PM conversations. =)**

** Enjoy!**

First morning sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the large recovery room in Vegas General Hospital and effectively waking Shawn up for good this time as the light shone in his eyes. He squinted through it, head turned towards the window and then eyed the two different IV lines that snaked into one arm. He felt sloshy and altogether ill, but he wasn't hungry or thirsty or even tired anymore.

Instead, he was already getting sick of this hospital bed.

Turning his head he spotted a nurse leaning over a bed beside him, chattering on and on as she pressed this button and that switch, running tests on… apparently, by the name on the silver framing of the bed, a certain Adam Ross.

"You should know, this is the worst situation that's ever happened in this hospital. Terrible, terrible! I've never—and I'm so sorry you, one of our own patients, had to go through that! That standoff lasted, what, fifteen minutes? Twenty? And I'll tell you—"

Adam groaned. "Annie," he said hoarsely to the plump, redheaded nurse as she patched up a spot above his eye, "I appreciate your intentions, but you're talking my ear off, here."

The light-hearted jab did absolutely nothing to the portly woman's mood. "Adam Ross, you are not to be talking!" she scolded. "Your larynx is severely bruised by that awful man, Montgomery. You can't use your vocal cords for at _least _twenty-four hours. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Adam grinned, nodding dutifully. Annie nodded firmly and, with a stern, "I'll be right back," she skittered out of the room with her clipboard.

Shawn smirked tiredly as soon as she was out of the room. "Yeah, Adam, don't make her get out the duct tape or anything."

"Shawn!" Adam exclaimed, too elated to even be insulted by the jab. "You're awake!"

Shawn looked down at his body sarcastically. "Really? I hadn't noticed. And I thought she said no talking."

"Screw that," Adam said nonchalantly, and Shawn snickered at the offhand statement.

"Man, you get sarcastic when you're finally safe from psychopathic killers," Tony remarked, coming in then. Out of all of them—Shawn could see a bed across from his with Greg's name on it, but apparently he was already up and about, because he wasn't in the room just then—Tony looked the best. He had a fresh new patch on his arm where he'd torn the stitches, and there was a tiny Band-Aid over his eyebrow, but that was about it.

"You look good for a corpse," he joked.

Shawn smirked back. "You look terrible for a living person. There's a fix to that face, you know. It's called _plastic surgery."_

Adam laughed and Tony rolled his eyes. "I'll have you know that this face has gotten me out of more messes than you've ever been in."

"Doubtful," Shawn shot back. He looked around the room, noticing a considerable emptiness. "Where is everybody?"

Tony shrugged. "Grissom managed to pull some strings to get us all in one room, but that's still, like, fifteen people. Most people went home—Gibbs is still here. Your entire team is here, Shawn. Mac and Danny are still here for Adam and, well, Greg _lives _here, so that's taken care of." He nodded towards Adam. "You two got the worst of it."

Adam pulled back the neckline on his white hospital gown to show extreme, nasty-looking bruises blossomed on his neck, chin, and shoulders. Shawn winced, and he laughed light-heartedly. "You didn't even see how bad it was the second day," he said, and now Shawn knew why his voice was so scratchy and hoarse.

Shawn frowned, focusing on that. "What… exactly… happened?"

"Well," Adam said slowly, and he reached across the table to the glass of water and took a sip, "after you took that miracle shot, which, by the way, thanks, that was one hell of a shot, you passed out and all the cops came running. At first they tried to arrest you, which pissed off your team leader, Lassiter.

"Anyways, I, apparently, went into shock and all that jazz, and I couldn't breathe for a few hours. They had to put one of those breathing tubes down my throat." He shuddered at the memory. "It was… terrifying. Grissom did his thing and everyone was sent to this room. Your team wouldn't leave, even after Grissom assured them you were fine and all that, and Grissom just now finally convinced them to go to the cafeteria, so that's where they are now."

"Wow," Shawn murmured. "Four days. That's an entire week Montgomery took from us. From me, at least."

A steady silence fell over the three and it stretched on for at _least _a full minute as each of them tried to figure out what to say.

"I'm glad you shot him," Greg's voice said from the door.

Shawn grinned ruefully as he came in, fist-bumping Tony and Adam. "Thanks. I am too."

"I heard it was one hell of a shot," he stated, crossing his arms. "Are you going to tell us how you learned to shoot like that? When not even Gibbs could take the shot but you could?"

"I didn't think," Shawn admitted. "I think that was just it—I wasn't thinking at all. I saw him and I saw the gun and I knew Adam was going to try to duck instinctively and I told myself that I wouldn't miss. And I didn't."

"Uh-huh." Tony was smirking, not looking convinced, but he grinned anyways. "You did good, kid."

"Kid?" Shawn repeated. "You're only a few months older than me."

"Still makes me older," Tony said, matter-of-fact. "And how did you-? Oh, never mind."

Shawn said it anyways. "Psychic, _duh."_

"Shawn!"

All heads turned towards the door but Shawn knew who it was even before the dark blur was rushing up to him, cafeteria food discarded and forgotten all over the white tiled floor.

"Buddy!" he said as Gus skidded to a stop by his bed. The grin faded on his face, however, when he saw how furious Gus was. The African American was almost shaking, fists clenched, eyes squinted and mouth in a straight line like he always did when he was trying not to blow his top. "Whoa, Gus. You're not looking too good."

"Three days, Shawn!" Gus exploded. "Three days! Three days I had to wait for you to come home! What the _hell _took you so long?"

"My bad," Shawn retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time I get kidnapped by a psycho rogue CSI I'll be sure to keep an agenda with me."

Gus glared at him for a second and as soon as Shawn had pushed himself up into a sitting position he reached over and clutched him to his chest. The hug lasted about a second, and then the two broke apart, leaving the three other men smirking at the sort-of make-up.

Juliet came in then, and, like Gus' food, hers ended up on the ground as well as she rushed over to him and embraced him, this time much longer than Gus. "Don't you _ever _do that to me again!" she said, her voice breaking.

Shawn pushed her blonde hair back behind her ear to get a look at her face. "Jules, are you crying?" he said incredulously, but the proof was already on her face as she glared at him, slugging him in the arm.

"Of course I am!" she retorted. "I almost lost you, and, yes, I do care about you, so just shut up and get better so we can go home, okay?"

"Okay," Shawn said, raising an eyebrow. "But does this mean we get to role-play nurses, now?"

Juliet pushed away from him, scowling to hide the smile. "You're impossible," she muttered.

~.~.~.~.

Greg stood at the airport, watching Shawn's plane, the last to leave, take off for California. All four men had promised to keep in touch, but for now they had a media frenzy on their hands, and he wasn't sure it could wait any longer before it started making up rumors.

Grissom stood slightly behind him. "You ready to go home?" he asked.

Slowly Greg nodded. The frenzy could wait. Besides, how much trouble could a crowd of reporters with the idea that a Vegas CSI went on a killing spree?

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked, noticing the look on his face.

Greg shrugged. "I'm gonna miss the guys, that's all."

Grissom reached over and ruffled his spiked, dirty blonde hair. "Yeah, well, I'm sure one of our cases will bring us out to meet one of them someday."

~.~.~.~.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony jumped, rubbing at his wrists as he jerked out of his spinning chair. "Yeah, boss?"

Gibbs paused on his way to his desk, staring at him with sharp blue eyes. "Get your head in the game," he commanded. "We have a crime scene."

The agent suppressed a groan and caught a glance from Ziva from across the room as she half-smiled, half-smirked at him. Gibbs continued to his desk and snatched his gun from the drawer and swinging the backpack over his shoulder. Grabbing the keys from the drawer he chucked them at Tony… and then Tony dropped them.

Gibbs stopped again as Tony fumbled for the keys again, peering at him in concern. "DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, boss," Tony muttered, doubled over, taking a deep breath as he reached for the floor.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, boss."

Gibbs didn't answer him, but noticed that the younger man's hands were shaking and he seemed to be having a hard time picking up the keys. "Tony."

Exasperated at the infinite use of his name Tony got up sharply, keys in hand. "I'm fine, Gibbs," he said, frustration coloring his voice. When he caught Ziva's and McGee's expressions, and Gibbs' arched brow that said, "You are definitely _not _fine," he sighed.

"I'm fine, Gibbs," he repeated, and this time it was more sincere. "Gas the truck, right?" And without another word he took off towards the elevator.

~.~.~.~.

"You shouldn't be back to work so soon," Lindsay said worriedly as Adam pulled on a white lab coat.

"I was going crazy at home," Adam said under his breath. His voice was still raspy and hoarse, but it was recovering. And it was true — he'd been home for almost two days, and both of those days were filled with sleepless nights and waking nightmares. He needed to _work, _and maybe then he'd finally be able to recover.

The redhead pursed her lips and studied him. "Are you _sure _you're okay?" she asked softly.

He pushed past her to get into the lab, blinking hard. "I'm fine," he said confidently. "Don't worry about me, Linds. I'll… I'll be fine."

She seemed to see right through his lie, but let him past as he threw himself into the mindless task of separating fingerprints.

~.~.~.~.

Shawn was _still _tired, as he set down on his dad's couch and kicked up his feet to rest on the arm. Henry walked by holding a newspaper, and in one swift movement he knocked off Shawn's legs.

"Dad!" Shawn complained. "These are brand new!"

"You've had those for four years, Shawn," Henry replied, settling into one of his comfy chairs. "How many times do I have to say it? No feet on my couch! Get your nasty shoes off the arm."

Shawn scoffed at him, bringing up his shoe to examine it. "These aren't nasty," he retorted. "The only thing on them is—"

The words caught in his throat as he stared at the all-too familiar blood stain scrubbed on the sole of his shoe. Hurriedly he pushed it away from him and then, catching his father's odd look, shrugged nonchalantly, trying to rid himself of the shaky feeling.

"Maybe you're right," he muttered, going to unlace his shoes. "Maybe I should just donate these to Goodwill or something."

"Shawn."

Henry's expression was incredibly sad as he studied him. Shawn met his eyes and then diverted them, still untying his shoe. "I mean," he continued, "it might freak out the kids or something… you don't think I'd get arrested for what happened, do you?"

"Dammit, Shawn!" Henry slapped the newspaper onto the counter, but stopped when he saw Shawn jump. The kid was shaking, muscles tense, and he seemed to concentrated on his shoe that he'd begun to pull the laces from the holes altogether.

He knelt by his son and took his hand gently as the younger man inhaled shakily. "I'm fine, Dad," he said, talking to the floor.

"You're not fine," Henry said, his voice gruff. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

Shawn's mess of brown hair shook slowly 'no', until Henry got up, releasing Shawn's hand.

"This is the first time you shot anybody," he noted, going back to the counter.

Shawn blinked. "Yeah, so?"

"So," Henry said slowly, drawing the word out. "Kid, I know how it feels, taking another man's life."

"I don't think you do," Shawn muttered, just barely loud enough for Henry to hear.

"Shawn, I've taught you everything you need to know," Henry said sternly. "You've got the skills, you've got the instincts, you've got the knowledge." With every word Shawn seemed to sink lower and lower into the couch, his expression crestfallen.

"But," he sighed, kneeling again by Shawn to look him in the eye, "I never taught you the emotional toll it'll take on you. That was my bad. I can't just say you can do something like shoot a bad guy in the head and not feel anything, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it."

"He deserved it," Shawn's voice floated up to him, sounding as dark and bitter as anything he'd ever heard.

Henry touched Shawn's shoulder, and his son looked up at him. His hazel eyes were angry, but when he looked into his father's they deflated into something so sad it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

"You saved Adam," Henry said gently. "Focus on that, and it doesn't hurt as much."

The corner of Shawn's mouth turned up. "Speaking of which," he said, bounding up suddenly. "Do you think we can take a road trip to Vegas and DC and New York sometime soon? Think Gus'll go for it?"

"I highly doubt it." Henry groaned as he stood up again, his back killing him.

"Well, you never know unless you ask." Smirking like he knew he was going to get what he wanted, Shawn turned on his heel and walked right out the door.

Henry watched through the window as he started up his Norton and, looking back with a smile, he waved at his father before taking off down the street.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
